Anything You Can Do
by Jeanie205
Summary: Clarke Griffin and Bellamy Blake don't like each other one bit. And each of them is pretty damn sure that the other is worse at relationships. But since it can't be proven either way, one Halloween night Murphy proposed a contest to see which is the better girlfriend/boyfriend, but they'll have to show their best bf/gf moves... to each other. A variation on the Fake Relationship
1. Chapter 1

It had all started as a joke.

Well, maybe not so much a _joke_ as a little harmless teasing.

But Clarke's amusement had faded quickly when things turned nasty.

And after that, well... she couldn't really be expected to just back down, could she?

If it hadn't been Halloween it probably wouldn't have happened at all. Or maybe if she hadn't decided to lean into Bellamy's princess shit by showing up at the bar in a pale blue ball gown complete with tiara. Or even if he'd understood the _first fucking thing _about irony.

Maybe then she wouldn't have been quite so ready to skewer him.

But it _was_ Halloween, and the irony of her choice of costume seemed to have flown right over his head. So after two hours of listening to _princess this_, and _your highness that_, and _where the hell are your glass slippers?_ Clarke figured she could be forgiven for twisting the knife a little when she got the chance.

She _had_ kind of wondered why he was on his own that night. Bellamy always seemed to have a woman on his arm, and just lately it had been the tall brunette. But Clarke would never have given him the satisfaction of thinking she gave two shits about his love life by actually _asking_.

So it was only by chance that she found out the answer.

She was squeezed right by Bellamy's elbow as they tried to procure the next round of drinks for their table from the overworked bartender, when Murphy unexpectedly brought it up.

"So... Blake."

Out of the corner of her eye, Clarke saw Bellamy's head shift towards Murphy, his face screwing into a wary knot.

"Yeah?" The monosyllable was decidedly curt.

Not that that part had really registered with Clarke. She couldn't be bothered eavesdropping on the usual round of trash talk between Bellamy the Curmudgeon and the Murphy the Heckler. Her ears only perked up a moment later.

"So, where the hell is Echo tonight? I was looking forward to getting a look at that Wonder Woman costume she's been talking up for weeks."

Bellamy's initial response was merely a quiet grunt, although he must have known, as she did, that Murphy was unlikely to just let it go. When he finally muttered an answer, his deep voice was so soft that if she hadn't been pressed right up against him she wouldn't have heard it at all.

"We broke up."

Murphy blinked in surprise.

"Yeah? Hell, I thought this one might actually have a shot. Guess I forgot what a lame-assed boyfriend you are."

"Fuck off, Murphy," Bellamy snapped. "I'm a great boyfriend."

Murphy held up his hands, palms out, apparently unwilling to get into it, but Clarke had no such qualms. She simply couldn't contain her loud disbelieving snort.

A snarling Bellamy whirled in her direction.

"And what the hell have you got to say about it?" He bit out the words through gritted teeth.

She shrugged.

"Just that you claiming to be a good boyfriend is pretty much like Al Capone claiming be a model citizen. Unbelievable... and easily disproved."

"Yeah? What the fuck would you know? You haven't exactly had the most successful relationships. Wasn't that guy Finn two-timing you? And, oh, yeah. Then there was that Lexa chick who more or less ghosted you when you wouldn't move to San Francisco with her." His smirk turned nasty. "Looks like you're not much of a girlfriend yourself."

Clarke's jaw dropped. "What the hell does any of that have to do with me being a good girlfriend?"

Bellamy's shrug was slow and melodramatic. "Well, if you weren't enough for Finn to be faithful, or for Lexa to stick around..."

Clarke was incensed. She thrust her face forward until it was mere inches from Bellamy's nose. Her index finger jabbed into his hard chest.

"That had to do with _them_, you asshole, not me! I'm a great girlfriend!"

"Yeah, well you couldn't prove it by me!" Bellamy barked as he faced her down, moving his muscled torso in a way that felt to Clarke like he was towering over her.

"What the hell is going on here?" Miller asked, pushing his way through the crowd that had already formed around their shouting match.

"Bellamy's being a dick. _As_ _usual_. No wonder his girlfriend kicked him to the curb!"

Even as the words flew out of mouth, Clarke knew they were a little over the line. But, dammit! Why did he have go bringing up those old hurts? The ones that had made her think maybe she _wasn't_ enough. Wasn't _good_ enough.

Bellamy's face closed down and his eyes turned stony.

"You know nothing about what happened with Echo and nothing about what I'm like as a boyfriend," he told her, his fury quieter now but just as potent.

"Yeah?" she hissed into his face. "Well, you don't know anything about me, either. But I know one thing. I'm a helluva lot better at relationships than you'll ever be..."

"The fuck you are!"

"You two planning to duke it out right here?" Miller asked mildly, his lips twisting in amusement. "Or we gonna have to have a formal duel tomorrow at sunrise?"

He grabbed the tray of drinks and finally succeeded in dragging them both away from the bar. But she was still fuming by the time they reached their table at the back of the room, and Bellamy's shoulders were still stiff with annoyance.

The rest of their friends studied them in confusion as they slipped into seats on opposite sides of the large round table.

Harper frowned, asking mildly, "What the heck happened?"

"They can't agree on which of them is worse at relationships," Murphy answered with an exaggerated smirk. "I think it's a tossup, myself."

That earned him a glare from both antagonists.

"Sorry, guys," Jasper added with a quick shrug, wrapping his arm securely around his long-term girlfriend, Maya, "but you both do have a crap track record."

"That's only because..." "You don't know a damn thing..."

But their protestations fell on deaf ears.

"Look, it's not such a big deal," Monty said in an apparent attempt to de-escalate the situation. "Some people just aren't into that sort of _couple_ behavior. Doesn't mean you're not good people."

"That is so unfair," Clarke protested hotly. "I'm great at being part of a couple."

"Yeah?" Bellamy snarled, glaring at her once again. "And I know damn well I'm better at it."

Jasper shrugged. "Well, since there's no way to either prove or disprove that..."

"But, you know, I think maybe there is," Murphy interrupted, a speculative gleam in his eye. "They could have... a contest. To see which one of them is the better... significant other."

"I have no problem with that idea," Clerk said immediately, "because I'd win for sure!"

"In a pig's eye!" Bellamy objected hotly, before he was interrupted by Monty.

"That's never going to work," Monty said reasonably. "Not that they both couldn't easily find someone new to date if they wanted to. Probably even tonight. But what's to stop either of them from recruiting some friend or colleague we don't know about to sing their praises, just to give them the win?"

"Hey!" Clarke and Bellamy protested simultaneously from opposite sides of the table.

"Sorry, guys," Monty said, turning a sympathetic eye towards first one and then the other. "I wouldn't ordinarily suspect you of cheating, but you're both so damned competitive. Especially with each other. We could never be sure."

"Well, maybe you could just, uh, pick out someone for each of us to try dating," Clarke offered hesitantly. "Then you'd know for sure we weren't cheating. And then," she shrugged, "see how we do."

But Harper was already shaking her head. "So what happens when one of them falls for one of you? And then finds out you were only dating them as part of a contest? That would just be cruel."

"Yep," Murphy agreed, nodding. "There's really only one way this contest can work. Only one way it can be both fair and honest. And that's if you play the part of boyfriend and girlfriend... for each other."

"_What!" "No way!"_

"You couldn't possibly expect him to honestly evaluate me as a girlfriend," Clarke protested, glaring at Bellamy.

"Ditto!" Bellamy shot back immediately.

"Besides," she sniffed, arms folded across her chest, "we don't even like each other. How can we possibly act like a good girlfriend or boyfriend?"

"You don't have to like each other, or to mean any of it," Murphy insisted, shrugging. "You just have to show you know what you're doing."

Clarke looked around the table, appalled when she saw her friends all nodding in agreement. _Were they fucking kidding?_

"So if there's no third party involved, then... who's going to decide which of us is better at it?" Bellamy wanted to know.

Clarke stared at him in disbelief. Was he actually considering doing this?

"We will," Murphy said. "The people right here at this table."

"Yeah," Emori, who'd been silent until then, spoke up excitedly. "We can observe your behavior and maybe even, I don't know, get a report from you every week. Then after some period of time, we can, um, vote."

They could_ vote?_

"I think a couple of months should be enough time," Maya chimed in eagerly. "We can have the final voting on the day after Christmas, when we have our Secret Santa exchange."

Clarke gaped when she saw the smiles and nods around the table, hardly believing her friends wanted to turn her life into some kind of absurd theatrical farce.

"So whaddya say?" Murphy asked. "You guys think you can handle this?"

Clarke hesitated, her eyes unconsciously flicking to Bellamy across the table. Hardly believing he'd really agree.

But he just smiled lazily and shook his head. "I don't think Clarke is prepared to meet this challenge."

And that was all it took.

Before she had time to rethink it, Clarke was on her feet, thrusting her hand across the table.

"I'm in," she said. "All in."

Bellamy rose and reached out to grab her hand.

"You're on," he said, his earlier annoyance seemingly gone, his dark eyes now warm with amusement.

And as their hands met in a firm handshake, Clarke felt a completely unexpected jolt of excitement and anticipation. She hadn't felt anything like it in years.

XXXXXXXXXX

When Clarke awoke the next morning, her head pounding, her mouth tasting like a sewer, she wondered why the hell she'd ever thought it would be a good idea to party with her friends on a weeknight. Even if it _was_ Halloween. But it wasn't until she spied the blue gown tossed carelessly across the one chair in her bedroom that she began to recall the full folly of the evening's events.

She groaned, wanting nothing more than to hunker down under the covers and forget about all of it, but a quick glance at the clock told her she was already running terribly late. _Why didn't she set an alarm like a normal person instead of relying on her undependable body clock?_

Clarke ran to the bathroom, emptying her bladder of what felt like a gallon of pee before rehydrating with multiple glasses of water. Moments later, as the cascading shower brought her fully awake, she contemplated the true horror of her situation.

Damn Bellamy Blake!

Something about him had unnerved her from the moment they'd met months earlier. Later, when every encounter with him seemed to lead to mutual bickering and sniping, she told herself that her initial reaction had been her spidey senses alerting her that they were destined never to get along. Apparently, he'd come to the same conclusion.

But that's where it usually ended, with them taking potshots at each other all night, to the amusement - and confusion - of their mutual friends. Never could she have imagined the current situation.

Why had she ever agreed to this stupid contest? How the hell could she be expected to act all girlfriend-y towards the man when she could barely stand him?

Clarke stepped out of the shower, sighing and shivering as she wrapped herself in a towel.

Of course, she damn well knew the answer to that one. She never could back down from a challenge. Not when she knew she was right. Not when she knew she could win.

And _especially_ not when it was the detestable Bellamy Blake who'd thrown down the gauntlet.

She towel-dried her hair, but another look at the clock told her she'd spent way too much time in the shower. Double-damn Bellamy! Just thinking about the situation had made her so sluggish she was later than ever.

She dressed hurriedly, knowing there'd be no time to dry her hair, let alone eat breakfast, then grabbed her coat against the chilly November morning. Clarke ran out of her apartment, racing down the two flights of stairs and slamming out the door, thankful the bus stopped right outside, hoping against hope she hadn't missed it.

Only to come to a screeching halt as soon as she hit the sidewalk.

_What the hell was _he_ doing here?_

"What are you doing here?"

Bellamy shrugged. "Isn't giving your girl a ride to work a _boyfriend_ kind of thing to do? Especially when you know she doesn't have a car?"

He was leaning nonchalantly against the side of his battered old truck like he had all the time in the world.

Except she knew damn well he didn't.

"But... don't you have to be at the high school pretty soon yourself?" she asked in some confusion.

"I do," he nodded. "But the museum is kind of on my way. And it wouldn't be a problem if you weren't so damn late today. Are you usually this late? I thought I saw your bus go by."

Clarke gaped at him. Apparently she _had_ missed her bus, but it didn't matter because Bellamy... _Bellamy!... _was here to give her a ride.

He opened the driver's side door and frowned when she still failed to move.

"If you don't hop in now we're both going to be late."

"Right," she said, too grateful for the sudden promise of transportation to do anything other than open the passenger door and slide inside without further comment.

They rode in silence, Bellamy driving exactly the way she'd have imagined he would (if she'd ever had occasion to consider such a thing). Smoothly, competently, confidently.

Soon, she was nearly mesmerized by the movement of his large hands as they played against the steering wheel. When he suddenly glanced her way, Clarke flushed, appalled that she could have become so focused on any part of Bellamy's body.

She cleared her throat nervously.

His brows cocked. "Yeah?" he inquired, eyeing her warily.

Pressed, Clarke said the first thing that came into her head.

"How did you know when I went to work? And that I took the bus?"

She thought she might have spied a slight flush on his cheeks, but he merely shrugged and said, "I've been to the art museum. I know when they open. And besides, I, uh, may have seen you waiting for the bus once or twice when I was driving to work. Once, I was even thinking of asking if you... maybe wanted a lift, but then you, uh, got on the bus, which was right in front of me."

Clarke was so astonished she found she had nothing to say.

As soon as they reached the museum - thankfully on time - she muttered a quick thanks and immediately grabbed for the door handle, not wanting to hold him up any further. But then he cleared his throat noisily, and she paused, turning towards him expectantly.

"So, uh, pretty sure we don't get out of work at the same time," he said carefully. "And I usually hit the gym after work. It's a great stress reliever..."

He stopped suddenly, no doubt appalled that he'd revealed such personal information to her. And... Bellamy had stress? She couldn't help wondering about the cause.

"But, um," he continued doggedly, "I could still come by and pick you up later if you tell me what time you get out..."

"No, no," she said quickly. "I usually just stay downtown after work. Maybe catch a meal with, um, one of my colleagues."

It was the most bald-faced lie she'd told in years. She loved her job, and liked her co-workers, but they were all much older and unlikely dinner companions. The truth was that if she stayed downtown for a meal she ate it alone. Still, she knew the gym was all the way on the other side of town and she didn't want him drivng miles out of his way just to ferry her home.

"So please don't, ah, worry about me getting home."

Bellamy nodded slowly, and she thought he looked vaguely relieved.

"Okay, then," he said. "I'll see you tomorrow morning. And, Princess? You might try to get out the door a little earlier so I don't have to run the risk of getting a speeding ticket."

_Tomorrow? This was going to be a regular thing?_

But Clarke didn't get the chance to ask. As soon as she shut the door, Bellamy pulled away without a backward glance.

Clarke was so astonished at Bellamy acting the chauffeur that it wasn't until late in the day that it dawned on her that he was now one up on her in the boyfriend/girlfriend challenge, and that she'd better come up with something soon or he'd definitely be ahead at the first check-in.

While there was always the possibility that he was full of shit and wouldn't even turn up, she nevertheless set the alarm that night and was up and out the door early the next day.

The November morning was brisk, and by the time her regular bus arrived fifteen minutes later, she was shivering with cold. Bellamy appeared to be a no-show, and Clarke was torn between glee that his first attempt at boyfriending was such a spectacular failure and disappointment that she wouldn't be getting a ride to work every day after all. As she got in line with a few others to board the bus, she was surprised to find that it was the disappointment that was winning out.

Clarke was about to step into bus when she heard a car horn beeping frantically and someone calling her name. She swiveled around and spotted Bellamy's truck parked directly behind the bus, his head thrust through the open driver's side window.

"Clarke! Clarke! Down here! Sorry I'm so late!"

Her foot was still on the boarding step, and as she hesitated the driver grew impatient.

"You gettin' on or not? I got a schedule to keep."

"No," she said finally, shaking her head, backing away, turning and hurrying down the sidewalk towards Bellamy's truck.

"Sorry," he said again, as she jumped inside. "I overslept."

Clarke just nodded, happy to feel the warmth. His truck might not be new but the heater still worked just fine. Even so, she couldn't suppress an obvious shiver as her body adjusted to the change in temperature.

"Shit," he said softly, side-eyeing her as he pulled out into the traffic.

When they stopped for a light a few blocks down, Bellamy fished his phone out of his pocket and thrust it at her.

"I would have called to say I was gonna be late but I didn't have your number. In fact, why don't you wait inside from now on? I can text you when I'm in front of your place."

"You don't have to do that..."

"Don't be stupid, Clarke. It's too cold to wait outside for long. This way, if I'm late again, I won't, uh, worry."

"Okay," she said, seeing the logic. Both happy - and unhappy - that he was being so thoughtful. In fact, her head was spinning as she carefully typed her number into Bellamy's phone.

They were nearly to the museum when he veered suddenly into the drive-thru of a Dunkin Donuts.

"Hope you don't mind. I gotta at least get a coffee. The stuff at school sucks. You, uh, want anything?"

She shook her head. "Nope, I had breakfast at home."

"Yeah, I don't seem to have time to have breakfast _and_ pick you up, so..."

Clarke blinked. "Bellamy, maybe you should rethink this chauffeuring thing..."

Bellamy gave his order, then turned to her with a smirk.

"Yeah, you just don't want me to win this contest."

Clarke shook her head, shrugging. "It's your stomach"

Even with the stop, Clarke arrived at work well before she would have on the lumbering city bus. Giving her plenty of time to dream up "girlfriend-y" ideas before the work day began. Because as much as she enjoyed getting a lift to work, she couldn't let it distract her from her ultimate goal.

Winning the damn contest.

A quick stroll through the gift shop gave her the kernel of an idea, but it wasn't until the next morning that it all came together.

She was already in her coat when Bellamy texted that he'd arrived, and she ran out quickly, sliding into his truck and slamming the door.

"What's that smell?" he asked immediately, his face wrinkling in confusion.

"Breakfast," she said, smiling. "I've already eaten mine. This is yours. You can eat it on the way."

Clarke couldn't help laughing when she saw his astonishment as she handed him a travel mug with the inscription "Ark City Art Museum."

"I think my coffee will meet your standards," she said. "And this is one of my special breakfast sandwiches." She pulled out a foil-wrapped packet from a small insulated bag. "It's egg, cheese, and Canadian bacon on an English muffin. I started making them for myself because I never had time to sit and eat breakfast when I was in grad school."

When he just blinked at her, she said hurriedly, "Unless... you don't eat this kind of stuff..."

"No, no. That cholesterol-laden breakfast is exactly my style. I just..." he peered up at her, "I mean, you didn't have to make me breakfast just because I'm driving you to work."

"Uh, uh, uh," she said, wagging her finger at him. "Isn't that what a good girlfriend would do?"

Bellamy's smile was wry. "Fair enough," he said, taking both sandwich and coffee out of her hands. "Thanks."

He placed the mug in the cupholder, unwrapping the sandwich and taking a large bite. When he moaned in surprised delight, Clarke couldn't help her feeling of satisfaction.

He was still chewing as he pulled away from the curb, and had wolfed down the rest before they got to the first traffic light. While he was as near-silent as ever after finishing his surprise breakfast, she still smiled to herself all the way to work.

This pattern continued over the next several days. Every morning Clarke waited comfortably in her warm and cosy apartment for Bellamy pick her up at her door. And every morning she presented him with one of several versions of breakfast, all of which he ate with relish.

Clarke knew it was stupid. Knew that everything they were doing for each other was fake and phony and not at all from the heart. But she nevertheless couldn't make herself _not_ appreciate the convenience of Bellamy's lifts, or delight in his clear enjoyment of her stupid breakfast sandwiches.

They still didn't know each other very well, and Bellamy was so guarded that Clarke wasn't sure they ever would. But she was beginning to think they might at least end up as friends.

And then ten days into the contest something happened that changed everything.


	2. Chapter 2

Clarke had decided to try something new that morning, folding peppers and onions into the eggs to make a western omelet, and then pairing it with whole wheat muffins. As soon as she bit into it, she knew she had a winner, and she hastily wrapped the second portion in foil, anxious to see Bellamy's reaction.

He arrived only minutes later, and when she stepped out the door and felt the bitter cold, she was more grateful than ever for the door-to-door taxi service.

"Hey," she said as soon as she slid into the truck, "I tried something a little different this morning. Tell me what you think..."

But Bellamy threw the truck into gear and took off without so much as a glance in her direction.

"Not really hungry this morning," he said, his voice clipped and bitter, ignoring the sandwich she was proffering.

It was so unexpected that Clarke felt like she'd been slapped. This was the old Bellamy, the one whose every utterance was barbed. That guy had disappeared as soon as they'd agreed to the challenge, but Clarke supposed she should have known their detente wouldn't last, that he'd eventually revert to type.

Still, foolish as it was, she couldn't help the sharp stab of disappointment.

As usual, they rode in silence, but today it wasn't the comfortable quiet that she'd become accustomed to. She could feel the anger coming off him in waves and she couldn't help wondering what the hell she might have done to provoke it.

The longer she sat there, the tension so thick the air was practically vibrating, the more pissed off she got. Fuck the damn contest! And the convenient ride! Nothing was worth starting her day with this kind of bullshit moodiness.

Whether by chance or because of Bellamy's ultra-intense focus on his driving, they reached the museum even earlier than usual. He swung into the parking lot and slammed to a halt.

Clarke burst into speech as soon as he shifted into Park.

"Look, Bellamy, I don't know what the hell I did to make you so mad but believe me, you don't need to keep picking me up. In fact, let's just call off this whole stupid contest. We'll tell the others that it was... impossible."

She already had her right hand on the door handle when she felt him grasp her left wrist.

"Clarke, wait!"

Clarke stilled, pointedly looking down at where he'd grabbed her arm.

"Sorry," he said, releasing her immediately. "I just..."

He stopped abruptly, closing his eyes and settling his shoulders against the seat before glancing back at her with a sigh.

"I'm sorry about acting like such an asshole, Clarke. Believe me, it's got nothing to do with you. And," he frowned, "you don't have to tell me I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

"So then, what _was_ it about?" she couldn't stop herself from asking impatiently. "Because you're right. You've been a Class-A asshole ever since I got into the car. So what's got you all worked up?"

When Bellamy ducked his head and averted his eyes, Clarke was sure he wasn't going to tell her. But then he shrugged and finally said, "I guess since you had to put up with my bullshit you deserve to know why. It's about... O."

Clarke frowned in confusion. "O?" _What the hell was "O"?_

Bellamy's smile was wry.

"Octavia, my sister. I don't suppose you've heard about her."

Clarke shook her head. _Bellamy had a sister?_

"Nope. Harper never mentioned anything about a sister. Only that you worked with Monty. So what about... Octavia?"

Bellamy's lips quirked up in a wry smile. "If I promise to tell you, do you think I could get my breakfast? It smells really great."

Clarke rolled her eyes. He really was an idiot.

"Sure," she said, handing over the travel mug and the insulated bag.

Something about the time he took to unwrap his breakfast sandwich told her that he was weighing his words. He finally took a huge bite and downed a slug of the coffee.

"It's delicious," he said. "As usual."

On any other day, Clarke would have been gratified by the compliment, but today she recognized it for what it was. A delaying tactic.

The sandwich was finished in a very few bites, the coffee in a few swallows. Bellamy disposed of the wrappings carefully, returning to her the mug and the insulated bag.

Just like he did every morning.

And all the time she waited in silence, suddenly desperate to know exactly what had so upset the confident and generally unflappable Bellamy Blake.

Just when her patience was about to snap he finally cleared his throat and began to speak. But he didn't look at her, instead staring straight out the front windshield.

"Octavia's a lot younger than me. When... my mother died, she was only fifteen. I'd just finished my BA and gotten accepted into grad school with an assistantship at Polis University. But then... I had to turn it down so I could stay here and be Octavia's guardian. But honestly," he rushed to add, finally glancing over at Clarke, "I didn't mind. Making sure Octavia was taken care of was more important to me than any grad program."

Clarke nodded in understanding. Bellamy loved his sister.

"So I was lucky enough to get a job at Ark City High instead and I started working on my Masters nights and summers. Things weren't always... great with Octavia, but at least I knew she was okay. Until last year."

When he paused suddenly, Clarke knew they'd come to the heart of the matter. The part that was going to be hardest for him to relate.

"I wanted more for Octavia than our mom. I wanted her to have a chance in life, not have to live hand to mouth with two kids to raise. So even though she'd never been much of a student, I persuaded her to give community college a try." He shook his head, sighing heavily. "She dropped out at the beginning of her second semester. Said it was boring, that she wasn't interested. Of course, she didn't bother telling me until weeks later when it was too late to recover any of the tuition I'd forked over."

Bellamy shrugged. "I know college isn't for everyone, but after that... no matter what she did, what job she found, it never lasted long. Something was always wrong. The hours, the pay, her co-workers. In the end, she finally moved out of our house because she said I was... suffocating her. That she needed her space."

Bellamy rubbed his hand across his face as though wiping away a hurtful memory.

"Still, at least I knew where she was, who she was living with. I knew she was... safe. And I was close by, if she needed me."

He stopped abruptly and Clarke could see the effort it was taking for him to get this all out. She said nothing, afraid if she did he'd stop, and she knew instinctively there was more to come. And that it was painful.

"Last year," he said finally, swallowing hard, "I dropped by her place after I hadn't heard from her in weeks. Her roommates told me she'd left town with some guy she met the week before. She'd left me a note... just in case I came looking for her."

He huffed a mirthless laugh. "_Just in case_... like maybe I wouldn't have bothered."

Bellamy sighed. "A few months later, she texted me that she was living on the west coast. That she'd let me know when she got... settled. Then for months... nothing. Until today."

"And today?"

"Here. Look for yourself."

Bellamy grabbed his phone from the console and handed it to her. His sister's brief message was still on the screen.

_Bell. I wanted to let you know I got married today. Please be happy for me because I'm very happy. _

Oh, shit. No wonder he was upset.

"How old is Octavia now?" she asked softly, handing back the phone.

"She's twenty-two. And you don't have to tell me that she's an adult because I know that. But she fucking got married! And not only was I not there," she watched his jaw tic as he tried to control his hurt and anger, "I don't even know who the hell she's married to."

"Could you maybe... text her back? See if you can open up a dialogue with her?"

But he was already shaking his head. When he spoke, the words were bitter.

"If my sister had wanted me in her life she wouldn't have done it like this. She would have brought the guy here and let me meet him."

Clarke felt an unexpected rush of sympathy at the bleak look in Bellamy's eyes, and wondered what she could possibly say. She knew it wasn't her place to press him.

"I'm sorry," she finally settled on. "I know how hard it is when family lets you down."

Bellamy's head jerked towards her, his expression disbelieving. His lip curled disdainfully, and in the blink of an eye the old Bellamy seemed to be back.

"_You_ know? Hey, Harper told us all about your famous family, Clarke. Senator father, big important doctor mother. So what the hell could you possibly know about being disappointed by family?"

Clarke felt her back stiffen with anger. Without a thought, she suddenly found herself spilling her guts about the parts of her life she normally kept well-hidden - and to the last person she'd ever have expected to tell.

"Yeah? Well, maybe there are a few things that Harper doesn't know," she bit out, her voice harsh. "Like two months after we graduated from college, my... dad died. And my mother, when I told her I was going into an MFA program instead of med school, she didn't feel like she wanted to pay for it. Said an MFA was a... a _pointless_ degree."

It was a remark that still stung after all these years.

"So, yeah, I know what it feels like to have family let you down."

She watched Bellamy's eyes widen in surprise, his expression suddenly morphing from disdain to dismay. He rushed to apologize.

"Clarke, I'm... really sorry about your dad. And that thing with your mom."

He paused suddenly, frowning, as though something had just occurred to him. "So... is that why you don't have a car? Still paying off school debt?"

Clarke's sudden spurt of anger evaporated as quickly as it had appeared. She understood that he couldn't possibly have known her history. Just like she hadn't known his.

"Maybe," she said, her smile wry. "Or maybe it's because I don't know how to drive. Definitely one or the other."

Bellamy's jaw dropped in surprise. "Who doesn't learn how to drive?"

"Someone who grew up in Manhattan, where having a car is more of a hassle than a convenience."

When he grinned and shook his head in disbelief, Clarke had to laugh, suddenly feeling a kinship with Bellamy Blake that she wouldn't have thought even remotely possible two weeks earlier. Like there was nothing she'd rather do than sit there and share life stories with him. If only she didn't have to work...

"Oh, shit!" she said, finally noting the time on the dashboard clock. She turned, grabbing for the door.

"Clarke! Wait!"

"If you don't leave right now you're going to be late," she told him, scrambling out of the truck.

"But I wanted to say..."

"Tell me tonight at the check-in," she said, slamming the door. "Now go!"

Bellamy turned the truck so fast the tires squealed. Like maybe he'd just realized the time himself.

All that day, at idle moments, Clarke wondered what it was he'd wanted to say.

XXXXXXXXXX

When they'd started this stupid contest, Murphy had insisted they'd have to check in every week, but this Friday more than two weeks later was the first night they'd all been able to get together. They were meeting at Grounders Pub, the gang's favorite drinking spot and the scene of the ill-fated Halloween party.

By the time Clarke arrived it was nearly nine, and the others were already crowded around their usual table near the back.

"Finally!" Murphy barked. "I figured you were gonna be a no-show."

"Hey, she's here, isn't she?" Bellamy snapped. "Give her a break."

He gave Clarke a lopsided smile, and said, "It wasn't easy but I saved you a seat. People keep trying to steal this chair, so maybe you better park yourself in it."

Her friends seemed shocked when she merely smiled and slid in next to him.

"What?" Clarke said, scanning the group. "Weren't we supposed to be doing boyfriendy/girlfriendy things? Or did you all forget?"

"I didn't forget," Murphy muttered. "I just didn't think you'd be so into it."

Clarke side-eyed Bellamy and they both huffed a laugh.

"Since when have you ever known either of us not to follow through on a challenge?" Bellamy said.

"I knew it! Totally called it!" Jasper shouted from the other end of the table, while the others just nodded and shrugged.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Murphy said. "Okay, so what else have you done besides Bellamy saving you a seat. And you actually deigning to sit next to him," he added with a smirk.

"Well, uh, Bellamy's picked me up and driven me to work every day," Clarke told them, wondering why the hell she was talking about what he'd done for her instead of the other way around.

"And Clarke's made me breakfast every day," Bellamy added quickly.

"Big deal!" Murphy sputtered. "You live on his route to work. And what's the breakfast? A stale boxed donut from the supermarket?"

"Yeah, but he lets me wait indoors so I won't have to stand out in the cold, and then he texts me when he arrives," Clarke protested.

"Stale donut? You don't know what the fuck you're talking about. Clarke makes me these fantastic breakfast sandwiches with eggs and cheese and other stuff. They're different every day!"

Eyes widened around the table.

"Anything else?" Monty asked curiously, his lips twisted in amusement.

"Well, uh..." Clarke stuttered, remembering their conversation that morning. The personal information they'd shared. _Surely that didn't count._

When she turned to find Bellamy's eyes on her, she somehow knew he was thinking exactly the same thing. And that by unspoken agreement they weren't going to talk about that conversation at all.

"Nothing's really come up," Bellamy said finally, shifting his eyes from Clarke to the others. "But we'll let you know when it does."

Mercifully, that seemed to bring the subject to a close, and Clarke was more than happy to return to their usual group chitchat and activities. Stupid drinking games and stupider trash talk.

The only thing that was different from any other night was that Bellamy kept buying her drinks until she finally insisted on returning the favor.

"Okay," he said, "but make it a soft drink. It's getting late and I'm driving."

Clarke hid her surprise as she fetched him a coke from the bar. How come she didn't know that Bellamy drank responsibly? Why had she always assumed that he was reckless. Just because he was dangerously attractive didn't mean that he acted that way...

_Shit!_ Where had _that_ thought sprung from?

But now that it had worked its way to the surface of her brain, Clarke couldn't seem to squelch her sudden super-awareness of Bellamy's enticing physicality. She told herself it must be the alcohol, but no matter how hard she tried to remain unaffected, all she could seem to focus on was his broad shoulders, his tousled hair, and the warm brown eyes that were regarding her with... affection?

She shifted in her seat, sure her mind must be playing tricks on her_. _Told herself sternly to remember that_ this was just a game._

But sitting so close to Bellamy, her confusion and discomfort only grew, and Clarke finally decided to leave. But when she announced her intention, Bellamy insisted on giving her a lift.

"You really don't have to do this," she told him quietly, as they slipped on their coats and waved goodbye to the others.

"Boyfriendy stuff, remember?" he murmured, ushering her out the door and into the November night. "How did you even get here?"

She shrugged. "I took the bus. Figured I could Uber back."

Bellamy sighed, shaking his head as he unlocked the truck. "I'd have been happy to pick you up, Clarke. It's cold as hell tonight."

Clarke was quiet as they drove along the darkened streets, so busy trying not to focus on Bellamy's strong profile as he stared out the windshield that she had no energy left over for conversation. He had little to say either until he pulled to a halt in front of her place, then he turned towards her quickly, before she had a chance to even grab for the door.

"So, Clarke. About the driving thing."

"Driving thing?"

"Yeah. You know, I really think everyone should know how to drive. Even if you don't want to buy a car right now, you might need one someday. Or... there could be an emergency."

Clarke nodded. "Yup, maybe I'll look into learning sometime..."

"I'll teach you."

"_What?"_

"I'll teach you how to drive. Seems like a, uh, very boyfriendy thing to do, don't you think?"

"Well, maybe..."

"You busy tomorrow?"

She shook her head, too surprised to come up with a quick lie.

"Good. I'll be here at ten." His smile was hesitant. "And I wouldn't mind one of those breakfast sandwiches if you feel like making one. I really missed them last weekend."

Clarke blinked rapidly. "Driving lesson. Ten o'clock. Breakfast sandwich."

She'd been so taken aback by his offer that she found herself unable to string more than two coherent words together.

"Good," Bellamy said, smiling more confidently now that his plan had been accepted.

Clarke gave him one last surprised look before jumping down from the truck and racing through the cold toward her building. When she turned back, Bellamy's truck was still there, and she waved to him before slipping through the main door.

By the time Clarke had climbed the two flights to her apartment, her head was spinning.

What the hell had just happened? After working so hard to ignore her sudden attraction to Bellamy, she'd now agreed to spend part of her Saturday with him one-on-one.

As she peeled off her clothes, Clarke told herself that what she'd thought was attraction must have just been the alcohol muddling her brain. After all, she'd been riding to work with him every single morning for more than two weeks without feeling any sparks at all. She needed to stop being an idiot and just be grateful. Teaching her to drive was a really nice thing for him to do, and not just as some kind of fakeboyfriend move, but in a _real_ _friend_ sort of way.

By the time she'd brushed her teeth and slipped into her sleep shorts, she'd begun to feel much better about the whole thing. She chided herself for worrying, certain that her positive feelings towards Bellamy only meant that after this stupid contest was behind them they'd probably end up as pretty good friends.

And by the time she finally slid into bed, Clarke was absolutely certain that a short weekend hangout with Bellamy Blake would be absolutely no problem.

None whatsoever.


	3. Chapter 3

Clarke woke on Saturday morning still utterly confident that she had a handle on the day's planned activity. Bellamy had offered to teach her to drive. And whether that kind gesture had been made as part of the game they were playing, or actually signaled a genuine offer of friendship, Clarke was happy to accept either way.

By now, she'd spent enough time with Bellamy to understand that she may have been mistaken about him. Or maybe he was the one who'd rushed to judgment about her. But one way or the other, they'd clearly gotten off on the wrong foot. And if this idiotic contest did nothing else, it had forced each of them to reevaluate their perspective on the other.

Which was a good thing.

She congratulated herself on being a big enough person to admit that she might have - in fact, quite probably had - misjudged Bellamy Blake.

But as for anything more - say, any incipient feelings of attraction that she may have thought she felt the night before - those had _obviously_ been a product of their role playing. Or the alcohol. Or maybe it'd happened because she'd been single for so damn long. But whatever the reason, Clarke knew it wasn't real.

She was way too clearheaded to mistake scripted lines and rehearsed gestures for real feelings.

That comfortable confidence in her objective analysis lasted all the way through her shower and her breakfast. All the way, in fact, until she tripped down the stairs just after ten, hot breakfast sandwich in hand, to find the man himself propped against his truck, exactly as he'd been that first day. But instead of the uncertain expression he'd worn then, his face was relaxed.

Until he saw Clarke, and then it lit up with a brilliant smile.

She'd seen that smile before, of course, but only peripherally. It had never before been trained on her and her alone. And suddenly, despite the hours of introspection and analysis, despite all her confident conclusions, Clarke's heart began to race madly.

And as she reached the sidewalk, she found she couldn't stop herself from returning that smile.

For one long moment they just stared at one another, until finally Bellamy shook his head lightly and pushed away from the truck.

"Hey," he said. "So you ready for this?"

"Of course," she nodded, ignoring her dry mouth and sweaty palms.

_Of course_. She was absolutely ready to spend the next few hours fighting the attraction that had not only _not_ vanished the way she'd anticipated, but was even now threatening to swamp her senses.

_Great._

Fortunately, Bellamy didn't seem to notice anything odd about her behavior, and by the time she was seated in the passenger seat handing him his sandwich, Clarke began to feel more in control.

"What's in here?" he asked, moaning appreciatively as he chewed and swallowed the first bite.

"Italian sausage. And a little fresh basil in the egg."

"Are you this good a cook with everything? Or is it only breakfast sandwiches."

Clarke smirked. "I have to be good at a few things," she said, "to make up for my shortcomings. Like for instance... I don't know how to drive. But I think someone offered to teach me?"

Bellamy snorted. "Point taken," he said, wolfing down the rest of the sandwich and washing it down with a few sips of coffee. "Buckle up."

Soon they were cruising across town towards a part of Ark City that Clarke had never visited.

"Where are we going?"

"There's a big industrial park out this way," Bellamy explained, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. "But the businesses aren't open on the weekends so the lot's empty. Lots of room to practice driving."

"So how'd you know about it?"

Bellamy shrugged. "I live near there."

Clarke suddenly realized that she'd never given a single thought to where Bellamy actually lived.

As soon as they reached the empty parking lot, Bellamy insisted that Clarke get into the driver's seat.

"Really? Already?"

He smiled. "Clarke, driving is something you have to learn by doing, not by watching."

She supposed she should have known that Bellamy would be very organized and deliberate with his driving instructions, from where to place her hands on the wheel to how much pressure to put on the pedals. Unfortunately, she had a little trouble focusing on those very organized instructions because she was suddenly distracted by the graceful sweep of Bellamy's hands and the mellow timbre of his voice. And unnerved by his proximity as he leaned towards her, only inches away.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, brow furrowed, when she twice failed to follow a simple direction. "If you want, we can do this another time."

Clarke shook her head, feeling like an idiot.

"Sorry," she said, reminding herself sharply that she wasn't some green kid, and if she ever wanted to learn to drive she'd better _shake it the fuck off._

"What was that again?" she asked, and this time she forced herself to listen, to focus, to concentrate. Within an hour, she'd begun to feel like she was actually in control of this powerful and dangerous machine.

Still, when he asked if she wanted to try driving out onto the street, Clarke was aghast.

"Not yet!"

Bellamy laughed.

"The last person I taught how to drive was Octavia, and she was zooming down this lot after about ten minutes. She couldn't wait to get out into the traffic. I could barely restrain her."

"Octavia sounds like a really adventurous person," Clarke said tentatively, surprised and happy that he'd mentioned his sister. Wanting to keep him on the subject.

"She was. _Is_, I suppose," he added after a moment. But then his face closed up as though he'd just then remembered who it was he was talking about. And where she was now.

"Bellamy..."

"I think you need to start learning about backing up," he said quickly, deliberately changing the subject. Clarke sighed inwardly, but instinct told her not to push it.

After two hours, Bellamy declared they were through for the day.

"You're doing really well," he told her. "A few more lessons and you'll be ready to take the road test."

When Bellamy got back behind the wheel, Clarke was sure he'd soon be dropping her at home. But he had something different in mind.

"I think maybe we should stop by the DMV and get you signed up for the written test. Then maybe we can, uh, grab a burger or something," he added hesitantly, not quite looking at her. "Celebrate you getting a license."

Clarke laughed, trying to squelch the sudden unwelcome surge of excitement that hit her when she realized her hangout with Bellamy wasn't quite over after all.

"I haven't got the license yet. And... we're only getting burgers if I can pay. As a thank you for the driving lessons."

Bellamy frowned. "No fucking way. It was my idea so I should pay. And... aren't I supposed to be doing the boyfriend bit anyway?"

"I don't want you spending any more money on me, Bellamy. The drinks last night were enough. And besides, since no one's around to see, you're not getting any contest points," she added, smiling cheekily. "But if you won't let me pay, then we go Dutch."

"Okay," he said, "Dutch it is. Just let me get some cash real quick."

But when he stopped at the ATM outside the nearest bank, Clarke learned there'd be a slight delay in their lunch.

"Shit!" Bellamy had reached into his back pocket only to find it empty. "I can't believe I've been driving around all morning without my wallet. Look," he turned towards her hesitantly, "do you mind if we stop by my place? It's only a few blocks from here."

"Of course not," Clarke said, working hard to hide her curiosity. She'd only just learned where Bellamy lived and now she was actually going to see it.

A few quick turns along the narrow streets brought them out of the commercial district and into a modest residential neighborhood where the homes were small and unpretentious, but looked well-cared for. When Bellamy pulled into the driveway of a craftsman-style bungalow, Clarke couldn't have been more surprised.

"This is where you live?"

He turned towards her, his expression wary.

"Why do you say it like that? I mean, I known it's not exactly The Ritz..."

"Are you kidding? It's wonderful!" Clarke was unable to contain her excitement as her eyes swept the neighborhood and then refocused on Bellamy's house. "Even though you said _house_, I figured you lived in an apartment, like the rest of us. I had no idea that you actually had a real honest-to-god house. And this is such a classic!"

"Oh." He shrugged lightly, but she could see that he was pleased by her reaction. "You probably wouldn't have been too impressed if you'd seen it when I was growing up. In a lot of ways, I couldn't blame O for wanting to move out. It was a real dump."

His eyes lit up with enthusiasm as he continued.

"I'd been wanting to rehab it for years but I never had the time until I finally finished my Masters a few years ago."

She turned to him in surprise.

"You painted this yourself?"

He grinned. "Yep. And I put on the new roof. It's the only way I could afford it. It took me a couple of summers to get it all done."

Clarke could hardly believe it. "But... how do you even know how to do that stuff?"

"Ah. Well, that's one advantage to needing jobs that paid well. I worked construction every summer all through college. Picked up a few... skills."

"A few?" She studied the rich olive green clapboards. "House-painting? And - and _roofing?_"

_How many more things did she not know about Bellamy Blake?_

"Well, yeah. But... that's just the outside. Last winter I finally had time to work on the inside."

He paused and ducked his head, glancing at her out of the corner of his eyes.

"So... would you like to... ah... take a look inside."

"I'd love to!"

Clarke scrambled out of the truck eagerly, and when he opened the door, she was immediately impressed. It was clear that Bellamy had spent a lot of time carefully restoring all the woodwork and the hardwood floors.

He smiled almost shyly when she told him what a great job he'd done.

"I was lucky they'd never been painted, so I just needed to repair and do a little cleanup. It didn't take that long. I spent most of my time on the kitchen," he said, leading her toward the back of the house.

Clarke's eyes swept the room, taking in the new appliances and cabinets that nevertheless fit in well with the classic style.

"It's beautiful," she said, her enthusiasm unfeigned. "I love it."

They made their way back through a dining room that included a built-in china closet and a set of table and chairs, also skillfully refinished, that he told her he'd found online for practically nothing.

And yet... as wonderful as it all was, with its quaint architectural features like the half-pillars between the dining/living rooms and the small stained-glass window on the stair landing... Clarke couldn't help feeling that something was missing.

"What's wrong?" he asked suddenly.

"Why should anything be wrong?" she equivocated.

"You're frowning," he told her, his brow wrinkled. "Did I screw up somewhere?"

"Of course not. It's just..."

"Just?"

"Well, all your rehabbing is really nice. Beautiful, in fact. And your new furniture looks comfortable."

"Yeah, you shoulda seen the dilapidated couch that used to be in this room. It was falling apart. So I got this one and the chairs. That table."

Clarke nodded. "They're perfect! But...you have only one lamp. And there are no curtains on your windows. It... must be kinda dark in here at night. And feel cold. Not at all... cozy."

"Well... I don't spend much time in here. I've got another TV upstairs in my room. And then," Bellamy sighed, "it seems stupid now but I kept thinking Octavia would come home eventually and help me with that part. She always wanted to fix this place up but I never had the money. And that's another thing. After buying the new appliances and the furniture, I really don't have a lot of cash left to spend on the extras."

"Well, you wouldn't need much money." Clarke shrugged. "But of course it's your house and if you're happy with it..."

"I'm not," he said. "I'd really like it to be... cozier. So... what was that about the money?"

She considered. "How much do you think you could spare to fix this place up?"

"I don't know. Maybe... three hundred bucks?"

"That's plenty."

"Yeah? Isn't all that crap expensive?"

She frowned. "Bellamy. Have you never heard of Home Goods? Bed, Bath, and Beyond? _Target?_"

He shrugged. "Maybe. But if I get inexpensive stuff, won't it look cheap? Or, uh, fall apart?"

"It's not like your dishwasher," she said, smiling at him. "Mirrors and pictures don't have to _do_ anything. They just have to hang around and make the place seem... homier. And as for looking cheap, you just have to know what to pick."

Clarke cleared her throat, the words falling out of her mouth before she could stop them.

"If you want... I could help you decorate."

Bellamy drew in a surprised breath.

"You'd be willing to do that?"

"Are you kidding? I love decorating." She smirked. "And besides, isn't helping you fix up this place exactly what a good girlfriend would do?"

Bellamy laughed. "You're just looking for a way to catch up with my fantastic boyfriend moves."

"Maybe," she grinned. "So... whaddya think? We could start today after lunch, if, uh, you have no plans."

"I have no plans," he said, smiling down at her.

"Great," she said, turning away quickly because for some reason her heart had begun to race at the thought of spending the rest of the day with him.

As they canvassed Clarke's favorite stores for bargains that afternoon, she tried to suppress how much she loved the idea of helping Bellamy decorate his home. Insisting to herself that she was doing it for the contest. That she couldn't let him get ahead of her.

Ruthlessly shoving aside any stray thought that her eagerness and enthusiasm might be the least bit... personal.

In the end, it took the better part of a week, but by the time Clarke had spent the last of Bellamy's hard-earned dollars, and they'd hung up the curtains, and set out the lamps and other touches of warmth and color that she'd brought to the space, he was looking at her like she was some kind of wizard.

"I can't believe you did all this with so little," he said, straightening the mirror she'd found on clearance that looked absolutely perfect over his couch.

"Just _girlfriending_," she said breezily, outwardly shrugging off the compliment. Inwardly unnerved by how very happy his simple praise had made her feel.

"Right," he said, turning away quickly, like he, too, had suddenly remembered that none of this was real. "You're better at that than I thought."

"You, too," she said under her breath.

When Bellamy dropped her off at the museum on Friday morning, he reminded her he'd be picking her up for their scheduled get together/check-in with the gang that night. The one that Murphy had insisted upon.

"Gotta keep you two on your toes," Murphy had told them the week before.

The others were already there when Bellamy and Clarke strolled amicably into Grounders later that evening. Miller immediately nodded in exaggerated relief.

"Thank god I'm not going to have to break up any more duels," he muttered.

"Shut up, Miller," Bellamy said without heat as they slid into their chairs.

"So what do you two have to report this week?" Murphy asked as soon as they had drinks in front of them.

Clarke glanced over at Bellamy, but he said, "You first."

"Well," she nodded. "Bellamy's been giving me driving lessons."

"Wait! You don't know how to drive?" Jasper was incredulous.

"Never had the need. But Bellamy said everyone should know how to drive, so..."

"Oh, Bellamy said that, did he?" Harper was grinning at her.

Clarke shrugged but she could feel herself flushing. _Why the hell had she quoted him like he was some kind of fucking guru?_

"Driving lessons are nothing compared to how Clarke helped me," Bellamy interjected quickly.

"Oh, I can hardly wait to hear," Murphy said drily.

"John!" Emori was exasperated. "Behave."

But Murphy just rolled his eyes and said, "Come on. Do tell."

Bellamy scanned the group.

"You all remember how I've been fixing up my house? Well, I finished the rehabbing and bought some decent furniture, but it still looked like shit."

"Bellamy! No, it didn't." Clarke objected.

"Yeah, it did. But believe it or not, for only a few hundred bucks Clarke decorated my whole first floor. It looks... great."

"Your downstairs is all fixed up?" Harper asked excitedly. "Even that dining room set you said you bought?"

"He did such a nice job restoring that," Clarke assured her.

"That's great, Bellamy! You've just solved our problem."

"What problem?" He turned to Clarke in confusion, but she was equally mystified.

"Just before you came in, we were trying to figure out where to have Friendsgiving this year," Harper told them. "Last year at my place was just way too crowded."

"_Friendsgiving?_" Clarke was bewildered.

"Yeah, you know. You spend Thanksgiving with friends if you have no family. Like John and me," Emori said. "Or... if your family isn't around."

In truth, Clarke hadn't given much thought to the holiday that was now a little less than a week away. She hadn't planned on going to her Mom's, and had thought she might just spend the day sketching. But now there was to be a... Friendsgiving? And they wanted to have it at Bellamy's house?

"Uh, I don't know," he was saying. "I'm not sure..."

"I could help you."

Clarke hadn't even known she was going to volunteer until she suddenly found herself offering.

"You could?" He frowned down at her.

"Yeah." She shrugged. "Isn't that another one of those _girlfriendy_ things?"

Bellamy's mouth turned up in a lopsided smile.

"I suppose it is. But what I meant was... do you know how to cook? Other than breakfast sandwiches? Didn't you have a cook or something growing up?"

Clarke's jaw dropped in surprise, then she frowned in exasperation.

"I don't know where the hell you get these crazy ideas about my childhood, Bellamy. We did have someone who came in every week to clean. Which was awesome! Who likes to vacuum? But a cook? _No way. _ My mom cooked. Or my dad. Or I did. And if everyone was busy, we ordered in or ate out."

She turned to the others, who were avidly listening to this exchange. "I've even had experience cooking a turkey. So if the rest of you maybe brought the other stuff..."

Clarke glanced back at Bellamy. "Unless you really don't want to do this." She frowned. "But it seems a shame not to use your lovely house."

As he gazed down at her, Clarke couldn't quite fathom Bellamy's expression. Because it almost seemed like he was looking at her... fondly.

On the other hand, she knew that couldn't be possible, because everything about their relationship, from beginning to end, was a sham.

_Wasn't it?_

Much of the rest of the evening was spent ironing out the details of the upcoming Friendsgiving, and reminiscing about holidays past. Clarke thought she saw a shadow cross Bellamy's face when somebody brought up Octavia, but it was gone so quickly that she couldn't really be sure.

And every once in a while, when she turned his way, she surprised one of those... _fond_ looks on his face. Or whatever the hell they were.

By the time Bellamy dropped her off that night Clarke's head was in a whirl, her mind racing with all the new details she'd been learning about Bellamy Blake. Most disconcerting of all, the more she learned about the man, the more she wanted to know.

Clarke understood she should be taking more care. Not getting too close. Not getting too involved. Not, god forbid, actually _falling_ for him.

But she was beginning to be very much afraid that it was already way too late.


	4. Chapter 4

Thanksgiving Day dawned bright and sunny. One of those crisp early winter days where the deep blue sky fooled you into thinking the day would be pleasant, when in reality it was bitingly cold.

Clarke was up even earlier than usual, determined to prove to Bellamy (_and the others, too, of course_) that she was capable of producing edible food. She wasn't sure why that had rankled so much, but maybe she was just reacting to the bizarre idea that she'd lived such a pampered life that she was totally unable to perform normal household tasks.

Like cooking.

She hadn't lied about the turkey, but she was hardly an expert, having taken on the task only once, on a Thanksgiving when her mother had had to leave to perform emergency surgery. But it certainly hadn't been hard. Still, this year she was bent on moving beyond the turkey-roasting to something even _more_ challenging.

Like baking a pumpkin pie.

Clarke had never in her life made a pie, or ever even considered it. But something about Bellamy's assumptions had made her determined to wander outside her comfort zone.

She'd bake a damn pie or die trying.

So far, it didn't seem like an insurmountable task. Her neighborhood market had yielded a ready-to-bake crust, and the label on the can of pumpkin had provided the recipe.

_Sugar? Eggs? Milk? A few spices?_

It looked doable, and Clarke was determined to make it happen.

By the time Bellamy arrived at ten to pick her up, the pumpkin pie was cool enough for her to wrap in a cloth and carry down the stairs. He frowned in confusion when he saw that her hands were full, and scrambled quickly out of the truck to open the passenger door.

"What's that?" he asked, eyeing her pie-shaped burden, as he slid back into the driver's seat.

"I made a pumpkin pie," she said off-handedly, settling into her seat with the dessert nestled in her lap.

"You... made a pie?" Bellamy's face screwed up in confusion. "You didn't need to do that. You were only on the hook for cooking the turkey."

"I know," she told him. "I just wanted to see if I could do it."

Bellamy stared at her for a moment, and then his lips tugged up in the lopsided smile that Clarke was growing all too fond of.

"You wanted to see if you could do it. Like... you wanted to see if you could act like my girlfriend for a couple months without actually losing your mind?"

She turned toward him in surprise. "I never thought... I suppose maybe it's... something like that."

"And what's the verdict?" he asked softly.

Clarke drew in a quick shallow breath. _What exactly was he asking her?_

"Looks like the pie turned out great."

His face was still as he studied her intently.

"And the other?" he asked, his tone enigmatic, his expression undecipherable.

She shrugged lightly. "I guess... the jury's still out."

Bellamy stared at her for a moment more, finally nodding silently before shifting into gear and pulling away from the curb.

It was so cold outside, and Clarke was so happy to reach the warmth of Bellamy's house, that it took her a few minutes to realize that somewhere or other he'd acquired not only a tablecloth but what looked to be an entire set of dishes.

"Where'd these come from?" she asked, running a finger along the edge of one of the simple white plates that Bellamy had already set around the table.

He looked slightly embarrassed.

"I went back to one of those stores you like. Home _something_."

"Home Goods?"

"Yeah, that's it. They had a whole set of dishes on sale for only fifty bucks, so... I bought it."

Clarke was astonished. "You know you didn't have to do that, right? That they'd have all happily eaten dinner off the mismatched stuff you already had?"

Bellamy shrugged, his eyes shifting slightly away.

"I know," he said, his voice barely audible. "But I wanted it to look nice. We... never had that as kids. You know. The Thanksgiving table with all the fixings and the matching dishes. I just thought..."

"They look great, Bellamy," she broke in quickly, her heart suddenly squeezing inside her chest. "We'll make a beautiful-looking table."

When Bellamy smiled happily, Clarke was so touched that she could hardly stand it.

Bellamy Blake still held vague childhood longings about a picture-perfect holiday meal.

_What the hell else_ _didn't she know about this man?_

XXXXXXXXXX

True to her word, Clarke produced an elegant tabletop, using a fat yellow pillar candle Bellamy had also bought ("It just smelled really good," he'd told her, shrugging) as a centerpiece and then surrounding it with pine cones and greenery from his back yard.

By the time there was a fire crackling in the still-working fireplace, the whole house emanated a warmth and homeyness she wouldn't have thought possible only a couple of weeks earlier.

Apparently Bellamy agreed.

"I can't believe how you've made this place look," he said, glancing around the rooms in amazement.

"It's your house," she shrugged. "You did all the work."

Bellamy shook his head. "I couldn't have done this. Couldn't have made it... feel this way."

And then the fond smile was back. The one that made Clarke's heart beat faster.

"Come on," she said hurriedly. "We still have plenty to do."

Somehow, she and Bellamy easily found a good working rhythm, and by the time their friends arrived a few hours later, they had everything well in hand.

Murphy looked around, his brow wrinkling in surprise.

"So is this what happens when we get you guys to work together instead of pissing all over each other?" he asked with his usual snark.

"Shut up, Murphy," Clarke yelled from the kitchen as she tossed the salad, while Bellamy just laughed softly.

But everything did turn out incredibly well. The turkey was perfect, the pumpkin pie a hit, and by the time the meal was over Clarke was certain she'd never had a better Thanksgiving Day.

She was in the kitchen searching for food storage containers when Harper found her.

"I don't know if Bellamy even has such a thing as plastic food containers," Clarke muttered, shaking her head. "I hope I don't have to use his cereal bowls... oh, wait! Here they are," she said, relieved, as she opened the shallow cabinet above the refrigerator.

"Can I help with the cleanup?" Harper asked, peering over Clarke's shoulder.

Clarke shook her head. "We already decided to just put the food away after dinner and clean everything else later."

"You already decided," Harper said without emphasis.

"Well, yeah," Clarke nodded. "We figured why waste time cleaning when we could be playing games or..."

"What's going on, Clarke?" Harper interrupted gently before she could finish her explanation.

"Going on?"

"Yes. With you and Bellamy."

Clarke frowned, turning and hurriedly refocusing on her task. "You _know_ what's going on, Harper. You challenged us both to act like a boyfriend and girlfriend. And... so we are."

Harper's eyes narrowed. "And... that's it? Because I don't think any of us expected the two of you would just jump into it feet first like you have."

"Is that what we've done?" Clarke said off-handedly. "I suppose that's only because we're both, uh, super competitive and neither of us want to lose."

"Clarke," Harper said, gently wrapping an arm around her shoulder, "are you sure that's all it is? Because I definitely don't want you to get hurt."

The weight of Harper's arm and the sincere concern in her voice were both such a comfort that Clarke wanted so badly to confess that... _no, she wasn't sure at all._

"Harper," she began, not quite certain what it was she was starting to say, but a moment later it didn't matter.

"Hey, Clarke! You finding everything okay?" Bellamy's voice was a sudden startling intrusion as he sauntered into the kitchen.

"You remember I told you I could take care of all this," he said, pulling down more containers from above the refrigerator.

He smiled down at her so sincerely that Clarke was once again reminded that she was in fact completely unsure of what was actually going on between them. But the one thing she had realized from that split second of hesitation was that she didn't want to talk about it.

Not even with Harper.

"I don't need help from either of you," she said, smiling at them both, "I'm almost done and then we can start pulling out the games."

"Okay, whatever you say," Bellamy nodded, grabbing a few beers from the fridge before heading back into the living room.

But Harper was still there.

"Are you sure?" she asked Clarke again, frowning uncertainly.

"I'm fine," she told Harper blithely, the second bold-faced lie she'd told in recent weeks.

Her brash reassurance apparently satisfied Harper, who finally nodded and left the kitchen. But Clarke knew damn well that she wasn't fine at all.

It was nearly ten before the rest of them left, and they'd probably have stayed longer if Maya hadn't fallen asleep on the couch.

But when Harper said, "Come on, everyone, time to go," and started to drag the others up, Clarke was torn between sadness that the party was over and... relief that the party was over. There was still a lot to do before she could go home and crawl into bed.

"We can take you home," Harper told her, as they said their goodbyes at Bellamy's door.

But Clarke just shook her head.

"Bellamy will take me home later. I promised to help and I can't leave him with all this mess."

When Harper frowned, she added, "I wish you'd stop worrying about me."

Harper gave a little laugh. "It's a hard habit to break, but I'll try."

"Everything okay?" Bellamy asked a moment later after she'd closed the door.

"Fine," she said, beginning to wonder if _fine_ was destined to become her new go-to word. "Let's get this place cleaned up."

"You don't have to do this," he began, but Clarke was sick of being told she couldn't handle ordinary tasks.

"I know that," she said testily, "but I said I'd help and I meant it."

Bellamy laughed, reaching out as though he might ruffle her hair, and her heart began to thud. But he pulled back at the last minute, like he'd suddenly remembered exactly what they were to each other. And what they weren't.

"Okay," he said hurriedly, turning away. "I'll pick up out here if you want to start in the kitchen."

Clarke nodded, not quite trusting herself to speak, and escaped to the mountain of dishes in the kitchen.

She recovered her equanimity as she packed the dishwasher, and by the time Bellamy pronounced the other rooms _good enough_, Clarke was filling his deep new sink with sudsy water to wash pots and pans.

"I can get those tomorrow," he said, frowning as he lounged against the kitchen doorway.

But Clarke was having none of it.

"They'll be harder to clean tomorrow," she insisted, turning towards him with a determined look as she brought one sudsy finger up to scratch at her suddenly itchy nose.

"Hey," he said softy, straightening up. "You've got, uh..." he rubbed his finger lightly across his own nose, "some suds..."

Clarke reached up, and grinned when she felt the wetness.

"Okay now?" she laughed, but the laughter died in her throat when she saw the expression on his face.

_When she saw how he was looking at her._

Her heart began to thud as she tried to catch her breath, but she couldn't seem to tear her eyes from Bellamy's face.

Then he was moving quickly, reaching her side in three long strides.

Bending down, his large hand cupping her face.

"Clarke." He rasped out her name, and a second later Bellamy was kissing her.

It felt like she'd never been kissed before. At least... not like this. Like she'd been waiting all her life to feel the glide of Bellamy Blake's lips across her own.

"Bellamy," she breathed, reaching up and winding her arms around his neck.

"Is it okay," he asked, the words pulled from him seconds later as he touched his forehead to hers. "Kissing you like this?"

"Yes," she said, a soft smile on her face. "Kissing me is okay. And... touching me is okay."

"Thank god," he said fervently, pulling her to him fiercely, wrapping her in his strong arms, crushing her against him.

And then there were no more words, only lips and teeth and tongues. Only soft caresses that grew more frantic with every passing second.

Soon, Clarke could feel his hard length pressed up against her, and she couldn't control the rush of arousal that began to trickle between her thighs. She rubbed her body against him, winding around his muscled torso, desperate for friction to soothe her throbbing heat.

"Christ, Clarke," Bellamy groaned, pulling away to take a breath, "you're driving me fucking crazy moving like that."

"Am I?" she whispered, her lips against the shell of his ear.

"You know damn well you are," he whispered back, laying feathery kisses along her jaw.

He sighed and took a trembling breath, pulling away just enough to look her in the eye.

"I think I'd better take you home now," he said. "Before you do something you might regret."

But Clarke couldn't imagine feeling regret. Couldn't imagine wanting to be anywhere other than right where she was.

"What if I don't want to go home? What if I don't plan on having regrets? What if I'd rather... have a tour of the rest of your house? Of the rooms I haven't seen? Of... one particular room?"

Bellamy's face was half hope, half disbelief — and all desire. She knew he wanted this as much as she did. She suddenly felt greedy and wanton and powerful. And more turned on than she could ever remember being.

"Are you sure?" he asked quietly, as though he could hardly believe she might be.

"Completely," she said without hesitation. "Unless you don't want..."

Bellamy gave a choked laugh. "I want. I want more than anything. Just as long as you're sure," he said, reaching down to kiss her softly.

And if she hadn't already known what she wanted, the sincerity in his face and the sweetness of that kiss would have convinced her. As it was, they just clutched at her heart.

Clarke didn't know what this feeling was. Didn't recognize the almost physical need to be close to him that had nothing - and yet everything - to do with sex. All she knew was that having him inside her would be the only way she could possibly express it.

"Okay," he said suddenly, finally deciding, perhaps, to cast aside doubt.

Bellamy grabbed Clarke's hand, tugging her through the dining and living rooms, and up the stairs past the lovely stained-glass window to the second floor. He turned down the hallway and paused outside the first bedroom on the right.

"Last chance," he said, his lips parted slightly like he was holding his breath.

"_No_ chance," Clarke smiled softly and glided past him into the room.

For a split second, they just stared at one another, and then they moved as one into a fierce embrace. Kissing and caressing, and all the time shedding clothing as they maneuvered closer and closer the bed. By the time they reached it, Clarke was dressed only in her bra and panties, while Bellamy was down to his black boxers.

She perched on the edge of the bed while he stood in front of her, the material of the boxers doing little to hide his very obvious arousal. She palmed him firmly as her eyes surveyed his muscled chest and arms, until finally Bellamy moved her hand away.

"Do you want me coming in my pants like a kid?" he rasped. "I'm so fucking turned on that if you keep touching me like that, that's what's gonna happen."

"Okay," she nodded, instead reaching behind her to unhook her bra, removing it quickly to bare her breasts.

Bellamy drew in a ragged breath.

"You are so fucking gorgeous," he said, his eyes half-lidded with desire. "I always knew you were but I could never have imagined..."

"You always knew... always thought... I was gorgeous?" she asked wonderingly as he reached up and cupped her breasts with both hands.

"Of course," he breathed. "No matter how we were with each other, I'm not blind."

He thought she was gorgeous. Which meant... he'd always been attracted to her. Just as she had always been attracted to him, no matter what she'd told herself.

How stupid they'd been.

"And what do you think now?" she said as she slipped off her last scrap of clothing and scrambled backwards toward the headboard.

"I think I must be the luckiest guy in the universe," he said, his eyes raking up and down her naked body as he removed his boxers.

Bellamy climbed onto the bed and hovered over Clarke for just an instant before bending to take one rosy nipple in his mouth. Clarke moaned as he sucked strongly and then reached down with his fingers to stroke the wetness between her legs.

"Bellamy," she panted.

"Something wrong?" he asked, smirking.

"No," she said, shaking her head back and forth across the pillow. "It all feels wonderful. I just... I want you inside me now."

"Oh, Christ," Bellamy moaned, shifting her slightly so he could pull down bed covers and position Clarke atop the sheets. Then he reached over to grab a condom from his nightstand.

"Are you absolutely sure?" he asked again, as he rolled on the condom and positioned himself above her.

"Are you fucking nuts?" she countered, grabbing onto his cock and placing it at her entrance.

"No," he breathed, sliding into her smoothly, "but I think I must be fucking dreaming."

Sex with Bellamy Blake was everything Clarke had never allowed herself to imagine it might be. He was sweet and tender, and at the same time totally in control, finally working them both up to a frenzy. She came only moments after he entered her, and he followed her by seconds. And then they were kissing and kissing, and she felt like she never wanted to stop.

But it had been a long day and they eventually pulled apart, flopping onto the bed as exhaustion overcame them both.

When she came back from the bathroom, Bellamy asked if she was staying.

And for the first time... she hesitated.

"I can leave if you'd rather..."

"No! God, no! I want you to stay, Clarke. I just wasn't sure if _you_ wanted to. Please don't go."

Clarke smiled and climbed back into the bed, snuggling next to Bellamy so he could wrap her in his arms.

"Wouldn't think of it," she said.

Seconds later, they were both sound asleep.

The next morning, they spent hours making love, reveling in the fact that neither had any work or other obligations for the rest of that weekend. For the next couple of days they mostly hunkered down at Bellamy's house, only venturing out to Clarke's place for clothes and other necessities. But they didn't see or speak with anyone else.

Early Sunday afternoon, Harper called Clarke with an invitation.

"We're getting together here later on to watch cheesy Christmas movies. You want in?"

She'd put her phone on speaker so Bellamy heard the invitation, too. When he smiled and shrugged the message was clear. _Whatever she wanted would be fine with him._

"Okay," she said. "What time?"

"Come at six. We've got a big pile of films to get through. And, uh... you haven't by any chance heard from Bellamy, have you?"

Clarke's startled eyes met Bellamy's.

"Why do you ask?" she asked Harper carefully.

"Because I've been trying to call him but it just goes to voice mail. And he's not answering my texts."

Clarke frowned while Bellamy fished out his phone and smiled ruefully down at it.

"I'll see if I have better luck finding him," she finally told Harper. "He's probably just been, um, busy."

Bellamy grinned at her from across the room as she rolled her eyes at him.

"Yeah, maybe you'll have the magic touch," Harper was saying. "Then he can give you a ride. You know, another one of those _boyfriend_ things."

Clarke could hear the smile in Harper's voice and shot daggers at Bellamy when he looked like he might break into giggles.

"Right. I'll keep trying to reach him," she told Harper, "Who knows? I might get lucky."

As soon as Clarke hung up, Bellamy burst into laughter.

"You can get lucky anytime you want," he said, waggling his brows at her, moving across the room to sit next to her.

But Clarke had something else on her mind.

"I've been thinking, Bellamy. I don't think we should tell them anything about what's been happening between us."

Bellamy looked startled, and for the first time in days, a little uncertain.

He shrugged. "Of course not, if that's how you want it. I mean, we haven't talked about anything..."

"No, no," she rushed in to clarify. "I just meant we should leave it until the day after Christmas when they're supposed to _vote_ on who won the contest. Then maybe we can tell them that things didn't go exactly according to their plan."

"Ah," he said, grinning, "I see. I like your style, Princess."

"And I like your body," she said, reaching up to wind her arms around his neck.

"That, too," he murmured, laughing, pulling her close and bending down to kiss her. "That, too."


	5. Chapter 5

Clarke couldn't remember ever feeling quite so happy.

If anyone had told her a few weeks ago that she'd soon be totally distracted at a job she _loved_ by constant daydreams about a man she'd been sure she _despised, _someone she was only _pretending_ was her boyfriend, she'd have said they were nuts.

_Oh, the irony._

Not that they spent all their non-working hours together. Bellamy still had lessons to prepare and work to grade. And Clarke was as intent as ever about keeping up with the personal sketching and illustrating that were so dear to her heart. But often as not, they'd be doing it all side by side, if not in the same room then at least in the same dwelling, whether at Bellamy's comfortable house or Clarke's smaller apartment.

And afterwards, when the pencils and computers were put away for the night, they'd happily crawl into bed together to bring each other pleasure.

Clarke could hardly believe it. The sex was so great that she was continually on guard not to gush to Bellamy about how amazing he made her feel, lest he become complacent. Or worse still, conceited. Although truthfully, there was probably little chance of that. If anything, Bellamy expressed constant ecstatic amazement that Clarke was in his bed at all!

They socialized with their friends, of course. But beginning with that first movie night at Harper's place, they'd worked hard at diverting any suspicions about the true nature of their relationship.

If Bellamy insisted on chauffeuring Clarke, or she made sure there was a good supply of his favorite snacks on hand, well... wasn't that exactly what they were _supposed_ to be doing? Hadn't that been the point, after all? To act like a really great girlfriend or boyfriend?

If eyes sometimes narrowed or brows occasionally rose at their level of investment in the challenge, Bellamy and Clarke simply shrugged it off.

"I'm going to win this damn contest," Bellamy had been heard to declare on more than one occasion.

"Like hell you are!" Clarke would shoot right back.

Later, in bed, snuggled in each other's arms in post-coital bliss, they'd laugh about it all.

"Talk about hiding in plain sight!" Clarke said smugly.

And so it had gone for more than two weeks now.

Not that they really talked about it, other than how delighted they were to be putting one over on their friends. But they'd never discussed exactly what they really were to each other.

Bellamy might have made made a couple of moves to open up the subject, but Clarke had always demurred. Maybe, she mused in her more introspective moments, she was a little afraid to disturb the delightful status quo, because it wasn't like either one of them exactly had a great track record. She knew they'd both been right about that during the round of bickering that had started the whole thing.

In any case, Clarke was convinced there'd be plenty of time for them to confess any... feelings they might have for each other after their friends voted and declared a winner. After that, if they still wanted to be together, they'd have to come clean with everyone else as well as each other.

But for now, all that was on hold, and they just floated along happily.

So as of mid-December, as far as Clarke could see her only real problem was what to give Bellamy for Christmas. What kind of gift did you get for a pretend fake boyfriend who was maybe, could be, was almost probably very soon going to be... the real thing?

She struggled with it for days before she unexpectedly found her answer one night while she waited for Bellamy to return home from a school function. Determined to finally find a place for the Thanksgiving tablecloth that had been hanging around for weeks, she opened the trio of drawers that sat beneath the built-in china cabinet. And was surprised and delighted to find that the top one was filled to the brim with photos.

In all the time she'd spent at Bellamy's house, she'd never seen a single personal photo, family or otherwise. But here they all were, stuffed into a never-used drawer, perhaps even largely forgotten.

She hesitated for only a moment, her natural curiosity about everything _Bellamy_ finally overriding any qualms about invading his privacy. They were only pictures, after all. And she'd put them away neatly when she was through.

It took her no time at all to find Octavia, whose resemblance to Bellamy was so unmistakable. A beautiful laughing child who grew into a lovely young girl. But she couldn't help noticing that there were almost no photos of Octavia as an adult.

She continued to sort through the drawer, and at the very bottom, wedged tightly into a corner, she found a photo that had been folded down the middle, as though to fit into an envelope. Or perhaps... a wallet.

Clarke unfolded it to find an unusually good-looking trio. Bellamy at perhaps sixteen, already sporting the million-dollar smile that she knew must have made many women's heart beat faster. Including her own. Octavia was maybe ten, her shiny dark hair framing her lovely face. And between them, a dark-haired woman so striking that Clarke would never have to wonder where the Blake siblings got their extraordinary good looks.

A happy portrait from happier times, now unfortunately creased and wrinkled beyond repair.

And as she stared at that photo, Clarke's fingers began to itch.

She hurriedly gathered the pictures and carefully replaced them in the drawer. Except for the one. That one was coming home with her. Because Clarke had been hit by sudden inspiration. She could use her talent to give Bellamy the best gift of all... the gift of happy memories.

Considering how much time she was spending with Bellamy, she had to be clever about finding enough alone time to work on his gift, but by the Saturday before Christmas it was finally finished. She thought it had turned out well, and was more excited about this project than any gift she'd given in years.

But a few days later, something happened that made her think maybe she could do better than just happy memories. Maybe she could give Bellamy the gift of a happy _today_.

They'd both been so busy that they'd had little real time to spend together in nearly a week. Even their leisure time had been taken up by friend group activities, which they were afraid they couldn't avoid without raising suspicions. But which were getting harder and harder to show up for without giving themselves away.

Especially the "Murphy check-ins," where they had to pretend a combativeness and a competitive spirit that no longer existed.

Clarke was relieved when the Sunday before Christmas rolled around and they could spend the whole day alone together doing whatever the hell they wanted. Bellamy declared it'd be okay with him if they never got out of bed at all, but Clarke just laughed and reminded him about their _errands_.

"You haven't bought your Secret Santa gift yet, right?"

Bellamy groaned. "Do I really have to?"

"Come on, Bellamy. Don't be such a Scrooge. You know you'll feel like an ass if you haven't bought anything when we have the exchange on the 26th. And you might as well tell me who you've got because then I can help you."

He frowned guiltily. "Harper."

Clarke gasped melodramatically.

"You're not screwing Harper out of her Secret Santa gift! Come on, we'll go to the mall. I know just what to get."

Bellamy frowned. "If the gift is too... perfect, won't Harper figure out that you helped me? Get suspicious? I mean, you said..."

Clarke shrugged. "We can always claim it was the _girlfriending_ thing. Or else we can just... come clean."

"I vote for that," he said, finally hauling himself up and bending over to give her a quick kiss before heading to the shower.

Clarke smiled to herself. After nearly a month of togetherness, she had almost nothing to complain about with Bellamy. Unless it was his habit of sneaking the first shower.

XXXXXXXXXX

The first call came while they were in the truck on the way to the mall. Clarke didn't wonder when Bellamy didn't answer because after all he was driving. But then the calls continued.

All day long.

While they were at the Clinique counter at Macy's buying Harper a lipstick.

("A lipstick? Really? She won't think that's odd coming from me?"

Clarke shrugged. "Trust me, it's what she'll like and it's under the money cap.")

While they were buying Jasper a reindeer scarf and hat set at Target.

("Jasper will love this!" Clarke enthused.

"Yeah, but I think Maya might kinda hate you."

"Nah," Clarke shook her head. "She must be used to him by now.")

It even rang when they stopped for hot chocolate and a Cinnabon roll.

"What's with all the phone calls," she finally asked curiously, and was surprised when Bellamy's face shuttered.

"Nothing," he said, shaking his head dismissively.

When they got back to the house, Bellamy insisted that all chores should cease in favor of his earlier plan. When he kissed her to make his point, Clarke melted, exactly like she always did. And soon thoughts of any activity that did not involve Bellamy's hands _or_ Bellamy's mouth - or Bellamy's cock - were shoved aside in favor of more pleasurable pursuits.

They finally came up for air hours later, when Clarke declared herself famished.

Bellamy frowned as he glanced at the time display on his phone.

"It's almost six. It'll take forever to get a delivery at this time of night on a Sunday. Especially the Sunday before Christmas." He tossed the phone to Clarke. "Why don't you call that Thai place you like while I get dressed? I'll go pick it up."

Clarke nodded, stretching her body on the bed, her skin still humming from their hours of lovemaking.

"Okay," she agreed desultorily, and was still in the middle of placing their order when Bellamy left the house to do battle with the holiday traffic.

She'd thrown on one of his t-shirts, preparing herself to wait for dinner, when his phone rang again. She glanced at it lazily, just then realizing that of course he'd left it behind, and hoping he wouldn't need it. When she was suddenly jolted upright by the name on the caller ID.

_Octavia_.

Of course! That's who'd been calling him all day. And who he'd been refusing to talk with. Even though Clarke knew how much the estrangement with his sister distressed him.

Why the hell was he being so stubborn about it when even a short conversation could maybe start to heal the breach?

As the phone continued to ring, Clarke stared at it as though mesmerized. When it rang for the fifth time, it suddenly occurred to her that maybe she could do something to break the logjam in their relationship herself.

_Like picking up the call._

Before she could think better of it, when the sixth ring began she grabbed for the phone, swiping across the screen before the call could disconnect.

"Hello?" she said hastily, her heart pounding.

Clarke heard a sharp intake of breath on the other end, and then a surprised female voice.

"Who the hell is this?" A pause. "I mean... uh... is Bell there?"

"Um, Bellamy's gone out for a bit but he'll be back later."

"Oh. So... who's this? Are you Bellamy's girlfriend or something?"

"This is Clarke. I'm... Bellamy's friend."

"Clarke? I don't remember anything about a Clarke." Octavia huffed a sardonic little laugh. "Not that I would know much about any new friends. Um, so, Clarke, do you think you could just tell him I called?"

Clarke sighed.

"Why've you called, Octavia? It is Octavia, right?"

Another mirthless laugh.

"I guess _you've_ heard about _me_, though."

"I've... heard you're Bellamy's sister but not much else. Would you like to leave a more detailed message? Not just... that you called?"

There was a long silent moment while Clarke waited for her reply.

"Tell him," Octavia said finally around a barely-suppressed sob, "tell him I miss him."

Clarke felt her heart squeezing at Octavia's obvious distress.

When she added, "Uh, thanks for answering," clearly preparing to end the call, Clarke could stand no more.

"Octavia, wait! Don't hang up! Why don't you tell Bellamy yourself? That you miss him."

"I've tried," and Clarke could hear the frustration in her voice. "I've been calling him all day but he wouldn't pick up!"

"Then... tell him in person. Come home for Christmas."

"What? We live in..."

"I know where you live. But... look. I don't know exactly what went down between the two of you but I know that Bellamy feels like you ran out on him. Like you... abandoned him and started a whole new life that didn't include him. God, Octavia! You got married and only told him afterwards."

"I know," Octavia said, grinding out the words, "but I was so afraid he'd try to somehow... stop it. But that's what Lincoln - my husband - said. That we should have told Bellamy. Included him." She sighed. "But it's too late now. I can't undo it..."

"No, but you could come here and talk to Bellamy in person. Let him meet Lincoln. Let him know he's still important to you. Still your family."

"But we could never never get a flight now..."

Octavia was suddenly interrupted as a new voice, deep and decidedly male, came on the line.

"Hello... Clarke, is it?"

"Yes?"

"This is Lincoln Woods, Octavia's husband. Do you think if we saw Bellamy in person, if he met me, then things might... ease up between him and Octavia?"

"I do," she said firmly, praying she was right. "This has been hard on him. He... really loves his sister."

"Okay. Look, Octavia's right, we'll never get a flight, so we'll have to drive. I think maybe we can make it by sometime late on Christmas afternoon. No promises, but we'll... do our best."

Clarke sighed.

"I understand. I won't tell Bellamy anything about this. I couldn't stand it if he was disappointed."

"Right," Lincoln said softly, before he rang off. "I feel exactly the same way about Octavia."

When Bellamy returned twenty minutes later, when she saw his smiling face as he held their takeout aloft and declared triumphantly, "I think it's still hot," she was torn between a desperate hope that he might get to see Octavia soon and a terrible fear that it wouldn't happen after all.

Clarke stood in the kitchen doorway, watching him grab the plates from the cupboard and begin to dish up their meal. And she couldn't seem to take her eyes off him.

"What?" he asked quizzically, finally looking up and catching her gaze on him.

"Nothing," she said, shaking her head.

But it wasn't nothing. She knew very well it was the furthest thing from nothing.

Because it had suddenly become utterly clear to her that she'd gone and fallen crazy in love with Bellamy Blake.

And there was nothing she could do about it.

What's more, there was nothing she really _wanted_ to do about it.

XXXXXXXXXX

After the hectic weeks leading up to the holiday, Clarke and Bellamy decided to spend Christmas Eve and Christmas Day alone together. But making that happen turned out to be... tricky.

In one of those karmic moments of irony, both Harper and Monty separately invited Clarke and Bellamy for Christmas dinner. It took some fast talking for Clarke to convince Harper that she wouldn't mind spending the day "alone."

"I'm really kind of beat," she told her. "And I'll see you the day after, for our Secret Santa party."

Harper remained unconvinced. "Are you sure?" Her concern came through loud and clear across the phone line.

"I am," Clarke assured her, hating to lie to her closest friend, hoping it wouldn't be for much longer. "If I get lonely, I'll call you," she promised.

Bellamy had an easier time of it.

"I just turned on my most curmudgeonly charm," he told Clarke as they sat in front of his fireplace with a Christmas Eve drink. "No one really likes Bellamy the curmudgeon, so it didn't take much effort."

"Yeah, I remember that asshole," she said with a grin. "Pretty sure I wouldn't want him at my Christmas dinner, either."

He laughed, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Don't worry, I don't feel the least bit curmudgeonly around you," he said softly. "Anything but."

He leaned over to kiss her, and pretty soon they weren't talking any more.

Clarke also knew that Christmas Day would have to be carefully managed.

On the one hand, Bellamy's gift was so bulky that there was no way she could ever get it to his house without giving it away. On the other hand, there was still that little bloom of hope inside her that Octavia and Lincoln would make it to Ark City by sometime Christmas Day, and she wanted to make certain Bellamy would be home when they arrived.

"Let's go to my place for breakfast and present-opening," she said finally. "I'll make you some of my awesome coffee and whatever kind of breakfast sandwich you like. Then we can come back to your place and make dinner."

"Aha! The old breakfast sandwich bribe," he said with a faux-suspicious smile, twirling one of her blonde curls around his finger. "I think you have some ulterior motive for dragging me back and forth across town."

Clarke's stomach gave a nervous little jump when she heard his playful words. If he only knew how right he was!

But as she'd learned over the past few weeks, the Bellamy Blake who was _not_ in curmudgeon mode was actually a pretty agreeable guy, and he quickly fell in with her plan.

She hadn't spent much time in her apartment lately, but Clarke had still found time to put up some decorations. A small fake tree was set up on her coffee table.

"Hey, I don't see any gifts under that tree," Bellamy complained as soon as they walked in the door. "Did you bring me here under false pretenses?"

"Let's have breakfast first," Clarke said with a sly smile, "and then you can decide if you were duped."

They ate their breakfast sandwiches and coffee in Clarke's small kitchen, and as soon as the last bite was swallowed, Bellamy said immediately, "Gifts!"

She couldn't help laughing at his childlike excitement. Was she never going to stop discovering new facets about this man?

"Okay," she agreed, rising to fetch her gift from the closet where she'd hidden it, but Bellamy put out a hand to stop her.

"Let's take our coffee out by the tree," he said. "And then... me first."

They'd no sooner seated themselves on the couch than he pulled from his pocked a small box rather clumsily wrapped in green foil paper.

"Merry Christmas, Clarke," he said softly. "I... hope you like it."

Having caught his excitement, Clarke's fingers were trembling as she took the gift, a three-inch-square box obviously meant to hold jewelry. But she couldn't imagine what it held that had him so emotional.

She carefully pulled away the paper and lifted the top, almost afraid to look inside.

Clarke was puzzled at first. What... _was_ all this?

But then her breath caught as it suddenly became clear what Bellamy had given her. Because _he'd_ gifted _her_ with happy memories, too, but these memories were much more recent.

The bracelet she lifted from the box was a sturdy silver chain, the links woven delicately together in a double loop. But it was the small charms that hung from it that tugged at her heart, because they were no more nor less than a history of the last two months.

Clarke found the silver crown first, astonishingly like the plastic one she'd worn on her head on Halloween night. When it had all started.

She smiled when she fingered the small truck charm, so reminiscent of the one Bellamy had used to pick her up every day for nearly two months now. And where he'd taught her how to drive.

For a few seconds, she was puzzled about the small, solid oval, before she finally caught on.

"Is this... an egg?" she laughed.

Bellamy shrugged, the lopsided smile appearing as he explained.

"Couldn't find a sandwich charm."

Her smile grew. "I'm amazed you found an egg charm!"

Beyond the egg was a small house, and she didn't have to guess that it was symbolic of her week of redecorating. Then a tiny pie charm, the delicate lattice crust just barely visible. A reminder of her first attempt at pie-baking.

And of Thanksgiving Day.

"Thanksgiving," she said softly, fingering the pie charm and smiling into his eyes.

"Yeah," Bellamy nodded.

There was no need to say more about that day.

The final charm was a Christmas tree, and Clarke's body began to tingle as she clutched it. A week earlier, they'd put up the tree at Bellamy's house. And then they'd made love for hours right there on the floor with the scent of pine in the air and the tree lights flickering.

She finally looked up at him, her eyes wet.

"How could you ever think I might not like this, Bellamy. I love it."

She flung her arms around him, kissing him until they were both breathless. When they finally pulled back, Bellamy rushed into speech.

"Clarke, I need to tell you..."

But whatever it was would have to wait. Because Clarke had a gift she was excited about, too.

She pressed two fingers to his lips, stopping him. "In a minute, Bellamy. Let me just get _your_ gift."

The thing was enormous and heavy, Clarke having double-matted and framed it for hanging. Cherishing the hope that he would _want_ to hang it. Bellamy watched her quizzically as she dragged it into the living room and placed it on the floor in front of him, before turning it around to face him.

"Merry Christmas, Bellamy," she said. And then, just as he had five minutes earlier. "I hope you like it."

It was a few seconds before she heard the sharp intake of breath that told her he'd recognized the picture. He picked it up off the floor and placed the whole thing gingerly on his lap, gazing at her in wonder.

"But... how? I-I used to have a photo just like this. I carried it around in my wallet for years, but then I lost track of it. But... how did you... where did you...?"

He stammered, seemingly unable to complete a single thought.

"I opened one of the built-in drawers in your dining room. I was only looking to put away the tablecloth, but then I came across... all these photos. Dozens of them. This one... that is, the original, I still have it... was caught on the bottom of the drawer. It was all wrinkled and cracked, but it was such a great picture. All of you so happy. So I thought maybe it shouldn't be forgotten, that I could..."

That was moment he finally caught on. And took another sharp breath.

"You drew this yourself? From the photo?" He gazed at her in awe.

She nodded. "It was hard to find the time but..."

"I just..." Bellamy looked up at her, his eyes glassy. "I knew you drew, of course I did, but... I had no idea you were so talented. This is just... beautiful."

"I'm so glad you like it. I thought you could maybe hang it over the fireplace. If you want to, I mean."

Bellamy laughed, but she could see the tears on his lashes.

"If I _want_ to? Of _course_ I want to?"

Relief coursed through Clarke. And elation. And love.

It was one of the most perfect moments of her life.

Which was perhaps why she wasn't exactly thinking straight. And maybe why, at that perfect moment, she said the _one thing _she shouldn't have.

"I hope Octavia will like it, too!" she exclaimed excitedly.

There was a sudden stillness in the room, as though all the air had been sucked out of it. And Bellamy's expression changed in a flash from happy amazement to bewilderment. And then... suspicion.

"What did you say?"

She realized it immediately, of course, and tried hard to backpedal.

"Um, I was just wondering if you thought Octavia might, you know, like the picture. Since it's her family, too, and..."

"No." He interrupted, his voice low and determined. "You said you hoped Octavia _will_ like it. Like you have some reason to think she'll see it."

"Bellamy..." Clarke put out her hands as if in supplication, but she could see no gesture was going to stop whatever was going on inside Bellamy's head.

"No. What have you done, Clarke? What have you done that has anything to do with... my sister?"

His voice was clipped, the loving Bellamy from only moments earlier completely vanished.

Clarke rushed into explanation. "That day your phone kept ringing. In your truck. At the mall. Everywhere. It rang again when you went to pick up the food, and I... answered."

"_What!"_

"She was just trying to get in touch with you, Bellamy." She could hear herself pleading for understanding.

"What the hell gave you the right to go behind my back and talk to my sister when you _knew_ I didn't want to?"

Bellamy's breathing had become harsh as his anger grew. Clarke had never seen him like this.

"I'm sorry, Bellamy. I was just trying to help." She could feel the tears stinging the back of her eyes, but this time they weren't happy ones.

"Did I _ask_ for your help? Ever imply I wanted or needed it?"

Every bitten-off word was a bitter judgment. But she could also see the hurt in his eyes.

She shook her head. "No, of course not, but I... that is, you and I, we're ..."

But he took that explanation and flung it back at her.

"We're... _what_? Sleeping together? Is that it? A-a... few fairly decent fucks and you figure you can just butt into my life without my permission!"

Clarke gasped at the hurtful words, but it wasn't until he grabbed for his coat that she began to feel the tendrils of real panic rising in her gut.

"You don't understand," she tried desperately to explain. "I was trying to fix things for both of you. I think she needs this, too, Bellamy. And... it worked! They're coming. Octavia's coming. For Christmas."

"Yeah? Well, it's Christmas, so where the hell is she? Don't you get it, Clarke? Octavia just wants to pretend everything's okay. So she doesn't have to feel bad about it. About running out on... me. So she can get on with her _real_ life. But she's never going to make any real effort for me..."

"Bellamy, I think you're wrong." Clarke choked the words out.

But he just shook his head and took a deep rasping breath.

"Yeah? And what suddenly makes you the expert on Octavia?" he asked, every bitten-off word an accusation. "I told you how she treated me like _shit_ and now you've gone out of your way to help her do it again. I-I... never thought you'd do that to me, Clarke."

He shook his head, barely able to look at her.

And before she could say another word of explanation, another word in her own defense, he'd thrown open the door and was pounding down the stairs and out into the sunny and cold Christmas morning.

For a few moments Clarke stood there, disbelieving. She hardly knew what she was doing when she fell back onto the couch in shock and began to survey her surroundings.

The cheerful decorations. The thoughtful silver charm bracelet next to the crumpled green foil. The lovingly-drawn Blake family portrait now lying abandoned on the floor.

_What the hell had just happened? How had it all gone so wrong?_

Her breathing became harsh and watery, nearly drowning out the sound of the holiday music that was playing in the background.

_Have yourself a merry little Christmas now._

Her head fell back slowly as she finally let the tears come.


	6. Chapter 6

Clarke wept until there were no tears left, and then she slept, her mind finally shutting down and backing away from the hurt. When she awoke a couple of hours later with an aching head and a heavy heart, the pain was still there, still fresh, but the tears had gone. She was all cried out.

As she curled into the corner of the couch, a soft blanket tucked around her, Clarke told herself that the worst of it was that... she understood. _Why_ Bellamy was so angry, _why_ he was so hurt. She'd known instinctively, at the very moment that she'd picked up Octavia's call, that there was a good chance he wouldn't like it. That he'd resent it. That he'd think of it as interfering. Or worse still, as a betrayal.

_And she hadn't been wrong._

But Clarke had also known how much Bellamy's estrangement with his sister was killing him.

She'd told him weeks ago that she understood how it felt when family let you down. Clarke's relationship with her own mother was tenuous at best, but at least they spoke, had even done so earlier that morning. And, yeah, sometimes their conversations were strained and stilted.

But they were still _something_.

Her mother wasn't lost to her, the way Bellamy thought Octavia was. Things might get better with Abby - _god, she hoped so_ \- and she clung to that. That hope.

But Bellamy had just... given up. And, dammit, he shouldn't have to!

Clarke could read between the lines. She understood how much Octavia meant to him. He'd taken care of her for years, and she was more to him than just his little sister. And if there was one thing she'd learned lately, it was how caring and protective Bellamy really was.

Of course, she could also understand the situation from Octavia's point of view. See how Octavia - the bold and assertive girl that Bellamy had described - might have chafed under such overt protectiveness. Have felt stifled by it.

But she'd gone too far! Her running away like that had ripped Bellamy's heart out.

Then to marry without even telling him? Without bringing Lincoln around to meet him? To Bellamy, that must have felt like Octavia had abandoned him. Started a new family. _One that didn't include her brother._

So, yeah, Octavia had a lot to answer for.

And the more Clarke had come to know Bellamy... _really, the more she'd come to love him, it was pointless to pretend otherwise..._ the harder it had been to see the pained expression that crossed his face every time his sister's name was mentioned. She'd hoped that maybe... as they got closer... he'd open up to her. That together they'd be able to figure out a way to heal the breach. But after that first day in his truck, when his hurt and anger had been fresh and he'd needed to vent, it had never happened.

_She should have waited_.

Waited for him to come to her, ask for her help. Waited until he trusted her enough to share his pain with her openly. But then the opportunity had presented itself so suddenly, and she just hadn't had time to consider... everything. All she could think about was... what if Octavia never reached out again?

So she'd acted impulsively, shoved any misgivings aside, and now she was paying the price.

So, yeah, she understood why he'd been angry. But that hadn't made the words he'd flung at her so callously hurt any less. Or stopped the little bubble of anger that surged inside her every time she remembered them.

Didn't he know... didn't he understand - that she'd only been trying to help? That she would never do anything to hurt him?

Didn't he understand much she _cared_ about him?

Clarke sighed. Maybe he didn't.

Battle-scarred from failed relationships, terrified to put a label on what was happening between them, she'd pushed away any talk about feelings. Too afraid that something might happen to screw it all up.

And so it had.

XXXXXXXXXX

Harper started calling around three. Clarke let the first few calls go to voice-mail, but then she began to be afraid that Harper might actually show up at her door. And the last thing she needed today was a sympathetic friend. One who might notice she was a little... off. Who might start probing. And then move on to direct questions.

God only knew what she might reveal. And later regret.

She decided she'd better call Harper back.

"Clarke! I was getting worried about you. I told Monty if I didn't hear from you soon, we were going to take a ride over just to make sure you were okay."

Clarke's smile was wry. How well she knew her good friend and former roommate.

"No need," she said as brightly as she could manage. "I was napping, and, uh, decided I should probably call you back."

None of it was a lie... or exactly the truth.

"Okay," Harper said, relief in her voice. "So... Merry Christmas! What have you been up to today?"

"Oh... not much." _Only a little heartbreak._ "Kind of having a lazy day."

"Do you want to come here? We're just having a few of the neighbors and some people Monty works with."

Clarke shuddered. If Monty worked with them, that meant Bellamy did, too.

"I'm not really... feeling that great, Harp. Thought I might just sketch for a while."

"Oh. Well, you do sound a little hoarse," Harper said, concerned again. "I hope you're not coming down with something,"

"No, no, I think I'm just a little tired..."

"Good. Because you can't miss our Secret Santa exchange tomorrow. It's always crazy, but this year..."

And Clarke's heart suddenly sank like a stone. How the _hell _could she have forgotten about that?

"Uh, I don't know, Harper. Maybe I am getting sick..."

"No, no, no. Don't even say it," Harper interrupted before she could get out another word. "Unless you're sick enough to be hospitalized, you're coming. Heck, you're the star attraction this year, Clarke. You and Bellamy."

Clarke felt numb as she tried to dredge up a response to that, but she was saved from replying when Monty suddenly began muttering in the background.

"Okay, I'll ask her," she heard Harper say, her voice muffled as though she'd turned away from the phone.

"Hey, Clarke," Harper's voice was louder as she returned to their conversation, "Monty wants to know if you know where Bellamy is. He's been calling him for hours, just like I was calling you..."

"I don't," she said quickly. "Know where Bellamy is." Not even a small lie there. "But, uh, maybe he's napping, too."

Clarke's heart squeezed when she recalled that this had been their original plan if anyone called on Christmas. To claim no knowledge of the other's whereabouts and suggest they must be sleeping. While all the time they'd be sitting - _or lying_ \- next to one another.

But it was supposed to have been fun. They were supposed to be putting one over on their friends.

_They were supposed to be in on it together._

And once again Clarke felt the sting of tears in eyes that she'd been sure were all cried out. She knew if she stayed on that phone even one second longer she'd be sobbing her heart out and spilling her guts.

"Sorry, Harper, I gotta run to the bathroom," she said quickly.

"Okay, I'll see you..."

But Clarke never heard when it was that Harper thought she'd see her next, because she'd ended the call and flung herself back onto the couch as the tears began to flow. It was a shorter bout this time, and she soon had it under control, but by then twilight had arrived and Clarke found herself sitting in the dark.

"This is just stupid," she muttered, turning the lights on and her phone off. Now that she'd heard from both her mother and Harper, she knew no one else was likely to call.

She pulled out her pencils and sketchpad, deciding to turn her lie to Harper into the truth. Unlike painting, sketching didn't require much light. In fact, when she had trouble sleeping, she often switched on a lamp and sketched in the middle of the night. (Not that that had happened much lately, when she often slept in Bellamy's bed, or he in hers.)

Tonight she was eager to focus on anything other than her pain and her regret, but the usual dependable distraction proved elusive. The only thing her nimble fingers seemed capable of producing were vivid portraits of a dark-eyed, curly-haired man, with mobile lips and a dimpled chin.

She was relieved when she finally grew drowsy, welcoming the brief oblivion of sleep.

XXXXXXXXXX

Clarke woke early the next day, famished, finally recalling that she'd had nothing to eat since the previous morning. She considered making herself a breakfast sandwich; she certainly had plenty of potential ingredients. But they'd all been bought with Bellamy in mind, and the thought of making one lonely sandwich was simply too painful to contemplate.

Maybe she could do it tomorrow, or... surely by the end of the week. But for now, she contented herself with a bowl of cereal and a giant cup of coffee.

The living room was exactly as she'd left it the night before, the heavy framed sketch of the Blake family still lying on the floor, while her charm bracelet sat in its box under the fake tree on the coffee table. She stared at them both for several moments, before finally shaking her head in frustration.

This was getting her exactly nowhere. _Did she think the place was going to rearrange itself?_

Clarke heaved a sigh, hefting the picture off the floor and carrying it back to the same bedroom closet where she'd stored it before. The bracelet proved more difficult, and she finally placed the box on her dresser, telling herself she'd deal with it... later.

Then she figured... why stop there?

Soon the row of Santas had disappeared from the top of the bookshelf and the fairy lights were unstrung from around her kitchen window. She stared at the fake plastic mistletoe she'd taped to the lintel of the kitchen doorway and recalled Bellamy's amusement.

"So what's this?" he'd said, a teasing gleam in his eye.

"As if you didn't know," she'd winked. "That's mistletoe, and if you can manage to catch me under it you just might get lucky."

In seconds, he'd had her backed against the wall, his eyes half-lidded.

"And here's me thinking I don't need fake plants. That I could maybe get lucky in every corner of this place," he'd smirked, bending over to leave a trail of kisses along her jaw.

Then she'd moved her head just a fraction, just enough to...

Clarke gasped as a stab of pain tore through her. She ripped the plastic ruthlessly from the doorway and tossed it into the trash.

After that, she lost her enthusiasm for undecorating, instead clicking on the Food Channel and slouching into the couch to stare listlessly at a _Chopped_ marathon.

She was still there hours later when she heard someone rapping at her door. Almost immediately, the rapping was accompanied by a worried-sounding female voice.

"Clarke? Are you in there? Please open the door because I'm really getting freaked out."

Clarke frowned. _Was she expecting Harper?_

She ran to the door and threw it open.

"I'm here, Harp. Did I know you were coming?"

Harper narrowed her eyes at Clarke as she moved into the apartment and closed the door.

"Well, you might have if you'd picked up your calls or answered your messages. I wasn't sure if you needed a ride, so I just decided to come over because it's too cold for the bus..."

"A ride?"

Harper was so easygoing that she rarely expressed exasperation, but today was apparently an exception.

"To our Secret Santa party. I reminded you about it yesterday. Everyone else is already there." She surveyed Clarke with a frown. "Why are you still in your sleep stuff?"

Clarke sighed.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I was, uh, so tired last night that I turned off my phone and I forgot to turn it back on. Why don't, um, the rest of you just... go ahead without me? I can give you my Secret Santa gift to bring back with you."

Harper's frown deepened.

"What are you talking about? Today's the big vote on Murphy's contest. He'll never let you hear the end of it if you don't show up."

Clarke ducked her head, shifting her eyes away from Harper.

"So when you say that _everyone_ is already there, has... Bellamy shown up?"

"Not yet. But he will eventually. You know he's never going to let you win by default."

"Right," Clarke said, suddenly breathing a little easier. If Bellamy wasn't there, then just _maybe_ she could deal with it.

"Unless," Harper looked at her closely, "you have some reason to think he _won't_ show up. Did... something happen, Clarke? Something you're not telling me?"

"Of course not," she said quickly. Maybe someday she'd confide in Harper, tell her all about it. But... not soon. And certainly not today when the pain was still so fresh.

"But like you said... I'm not exactly dressed for company. Are you sure you want to wait?"

Harper shrugged, tossing off her jacket and flopping onto Clarke's couch.

"I love _Chopped_. But make it quick, okay?"

Clarke nodded, finally deciding that going to Harper's for a couple of hours would be a hell of a lot easier and less painful than trying to explain why she wouldn't.

She flew through her shower, towel-drying her hair, then working it into a braid that left only those few wayward strands to frame her face. Under the circumstances, she wanted to wear something she felt comfortable in, choosing a well-worn pair of jeans and a pale blue sweater that felt like an old friend.

Too late, she remembered that Bellamy had loved that sweater, always telling her it matched her eyes. But then... Bellamy wasn't there, was he? And while Harper was sure he'd eventually turn up, Clarke had reasons that Harper knew nothing about for being certain that he wouldn't.

She peered warily into her makeup mirror, relieved to see that her face wasn't the blotchy mess she'd feared. But she wasn't exactly feeling festive, so she applied only a light coating of mascara and some pale pink lip gloss.

It was when she was turning off the lamp on her dresser that her eyes fell on the silver charm bracelet, still sitting in its cardboard box. She picked it up carefully, fingering the charms, but instead of the pain she'd expected, Clarke recalled how excited Bellamy had been when he'd given it to her. How personal the charms were, how unique.

It was a bracelet that made sense only for Clarke Griffin.

She grabbed it up, squeezing it in her palm, and felt a sudden intense sense of ownership. He'd given her this bracelet and dammit, he wasn't going to get it back. She was going to keep it and-and what's more... she was going to wear it!

She quickly wrapped the woven chain around her right wrist, working the clasp to secure it. While the end of her brief whatever-the-hell-it-was relationship with Bellamy had been painful, the memories symbolized by these charms were not. Instead, they were in a strange way... comforting. Reminding her that no matter what, all of it had really happened.

"I'm ready, Harper," she said, grabbing Jasper's package from under her small tree. "Let's go."

XXXXXXXXXX

Clarke could hear the noise from the party long before they reached the door of the apartment that Harper shared with Monty.

"Here's Clarke, everyone," Harper announced as soon as she opened the door.

"Well, it's about damn time," Murphy practically bellowed from across the room. "Where the hell have you been?"

But Clarke was saved from trying to answer. Indeed, she'd barely had time to take off her coat, when a small figure detached herself from the crowd and grabbed onto Clarke's shoulders.

"So you're Clarke," the girl said, surveying her up and down. "Well, no wonder," she added enigmatically, her face lighting up in a small, amused smile.

But before Clarke had even a moment to wonder about her words, she was pulled into a fierce embrace.

"Thank you, Clarke," the girl whispered in her ear.

It was when she pulled back to scrutinize the somehow-familiar-looking face and the glossy brown hair that the penny finally dropped.

"Octavia?" she said uncertainly. _Octavia Blake was here?_

"Yep." Octavia's smile widened to a grin, but before she could say another word, Clarke was scooped into another set of arms, these considerably stronger and attached to a body that was far bulkier that Octavia's.

But his voice was as soft and gentle as Clarke remembered from their phone conversation.

"I'm so happy to finally meet you," he said.

"Lincoln," she said, pulling away with a smile.

"Right again," Lincoln smiled down at her. "I don't know how we'll ever be able to thank you."

"No need," she said, still trying to wrap her brain around their unexpected appearance. "I'm just happy it all worked out."

Clarke's head was spinning. So Octavia and her husband had made it to Ark City for Christmas after all, and were even now at the Secret Santa party. But then... and that's when her heart began a rapid thumping. Because if Octavia and Lincoln were there, then surely that must mean...

Lincoln moved then, his bulk suddenly giving way just enough that Clarke could see what was behind him. Could see _who_ was behind him.

"Bellamy," she breathed his name, barely aware she'd said it aloud.

"Clarke," he said softly, moving towards her slowly. "I need... we need..."

But apparently Murphy's patience was at an end.

"Touching family reunion... not sure what the hell any of it has to do with Clarke... but yeah, okay, blah blah blah. So that's done, people. Can we now move on to the important stuff? Like... the vote?"

Bellamy so completely ignored him that Murphy might as well not have spoken.

"Clarke, can we maybe go into the kitchen so we can talk?" he asked, his expression earnest.

Clarke's heart contracted painfully. Could she really bear to hear him apologize just because she'd been right? Because her faith in Octavia hadn't been misplaced after all? Apparently it had all worked out, and she was glad for all of them. But regardless of the outcome, Bellamy had let her know in no uncertain terms that she'd butted into a place in his life where she most definitely wasn't welcome.

Better to just leave it at that.

"I'm pretty sure you've already said everything that needed saying, Bellamy," she murmured. "No need to tell me again that I was... out of line."

"That's not what I wanted to say at all," he protested, shaking his head in quiet exasperation. "I just... really need to talk to you, try to explain..."

"Hey," Murphy interrupted again, clapping a hand on each of their backs. "No more moves allowed, guys. If you haven't convinced us by now that's just too damn bad, because - like I _just said _\- it's time to vote."

But Bellamy shook off Murphy's hand impatiently, his eyes never leaving Clarke's face.

"You don't need to vote, Murphy, because... I concede. Clarke is definitely the best girlfriend ever, and I'm a complete moron."

"What the fuck?" Murphy frowned, clearly not willing to let it go. "Hey, you don't get to decide that. We have to vote. Those are the rules of the contest..."

"Fuck the contest!" Bellamy snapped, turning toward Murphy for a quick second. "I already told you. Clarke wins by default because I'm an asshole."

He turned back to her, his eyes pleading.

"Can't we please go somewhere private to talk?"

But at that moment Clarke felt incapable of dealing with any more emotional buffeting.

"I told you, there's no need, Bellamy. I'm... glad it all worked out for you."

"Fuck, Clarke, nothing's worked out for me, and I know damn well it never _is_ going to work out for me if I can't get you to listen." He took a deep breath. "So if you won't let me apologize in private, then I'll just have to do it right here in front of everyone else."

Clarke felt the stirrings of anger.

"Look, there's no need to embarrass us both. I was proved right and now you think you need to apologize for doubting me. I'll bet you've been trying to figure out how to gracefully admit you were wrong ever since Octavia showed up? Okay, Bellamy, I got it. We're square. Have a nice life."

"Jesus, Clarke, what I want to say's got nothing to do with you being right about Octavia!" Frustration seemed to pour off him in waves. "It's about all the crap I gave you. All the shitty, stupid things I said to you. All the lies I told you about... how I felt about things. I've been working on how to apologize for _that_ since just about the second I left your place yesterday."

Clarke felt like the wind had been knocked out of her. That was the _last_ thing she'd expected him to say. And if there were a few gasps of surprise at his words from the others in the room, she barely heard them. All her attention was on Bellamy.

"All the way home," he told her, his eyes begging her to understand, "the further I got from you, the more I wanted to turn the damn truck around and go back. But I couldn't think what to say! How to explain it. _Why_ I'd turned on you like that when I knew, deep down, that you were only trying to help. How to explain that my reaction had everything to do with... all my personal shit and nothing to do with you. You did an amazing thing for me that I was too stubborn to do for myself."

He paused, but Clarke could see his jaw still working.

"I know I never said anything, Clarke, but this was turning out to be the best Christmas I've ever had. And it was all because of you, because of who you are, and... everything you've become to me. And then I stupidly went and acted like a dick and crapped all over it." He sighed. "Please tell me there's a chance you can forgive me. That I haven't completely ruined everything."

When the words finally stopped, Clarke knew he was waiting for her to answer. But her heart was pounding, her body trembling, and she couldn't seem to form a single coherent thought, or utter a single intelligent word.

_What should she say?_

Not an hour ago she'd been in abject misery and now... this! She believed every word he'd told her, of course. Believed he was sorry, that he'd been sorry almost immediately. But still, while her anger was gone, his earlier words had hurt her so badly...

She wrapped her arms around herself to soothe her trembling body as she tried to figure out how she felt about everything that had happened.

And that's when he saw it.

"You wore it." He looked at her in amazement, like he could hardly believe it.

"_What?" _She was perplexed just at first, because it felt like days since she'd gotten dressed. But then she remembered.

"The bracelet. You're wearing it."

When he looked up at her, she could see the flicker of hope in his eyes.

"How come?"

She shrugged, trying for nonchalance. "You gave it to me, it was mine, so..."

"Yeah, but... why would you want to wear it? I know you must have been pissed at me, and-and _hurt_, and you had every right to be, yet... you still wore the bracelet. So... I'm just asking _why_?"

Clarke sighed. That was the crux of it, wasn't it?

Which was the greater? Her anger at the hurtful words for which Bellamy was now asking her forgiveness? Or her pain because she missed him so damn much that she wanted to keep close the physical reminder of how good they'd been together?

"I guess... I was trying to remind myself of what the charms had meant for us," she murmured slowly. "Back when it almost seemed... real."

"Dammit, Clarke, it _was_ real!" Bellamy insisted, grasping at her hand and fingering the charms that hung from her wrist. "You _know_ that."

Clarke's head was spinning. Should she take a chance? Admit how much the bracelet meant to her? How much _Bellamy_ meant to her? Or should she...

She was mercifully reprieved from coming up with a reply when Murphy broke in yet again.

"What the ever-lovin' fuck is this?" he said, his tone as caustic as Clarke had ever heard it.

"Shut up, John!" Emori hissed, but Murphy was on a roll.

"What the hell, Bellamy? You didn't need to actually romance her. This was just a stupid contest..."

"Yeah, well the joke's on you, Murphy," Bellamy told him, his eyes never leaving Clarke's face, "because your contest was a farce."

"Of _course_ it was a farce." Murphy was more irate than ever. "That was the whole point!"

"No, I meant it was a farce right from the start." Bellamy's lips tugged up in a sardonic smile. "The only reason I agreed to it in the first place was so I could hang out with Clarke."

"_What!_" Murphy bellowed in disbelief.

"I fucking knew it!" Jasper hollered from the other side of the small room, his fist thrust into the air in self-congratulation. But no one was paying him any attention.

"I... don't understand." Clarke's confused response was far quieter than either of the others.

For a moment, Bellamy eyed her with what looked like embarrassment, but then he just shrugged.

"I'd have maybe preferred tell you this in private," he sighed, "but I'll do it this way if I have to."

She couldn't imagine where he was heading.

"The truth is that I was... into you from the moment we met. But I didn't _want_ to be because I was sure you were some kind of pampered rich kid who'd never had a problem in her life. So I resented you... without even knowing you."

It was the last thing Clarke had expected.

He shook his head at the memory. "And dammit, I couldn't seem to shake the attraction. I don't know how none of the others figured it out," he shrugged, "but Echo did. That's why she broke up with me. She complained I spent more time taking potshots at you than talking to her."

Clarke gaped at Bellamy in astonishment, while his lips turned up in an embarrassed little smile.

"So when Murphy dreamed up this stupid contest, I figured... what the hell. If I actually spent time with you, then it would all go away. Or at least," he huffed a laugh, "that's the excuse I gave myself. But things didn't exactly go as planned, because... you were _nothing_ like I thought, nothing like I assumed."

He was gazing at Clarke with the same fond look that she'd been noticing for weeks now.

"The truth is," he said, his voice warm with affection, "pretty much from the first breakfast sandwich you brought me, I just... fuck, Clarke, I knew I was a goner."

"Bellamy." Clarke smiled, shaking her head, and knew that the time had finally come to be honest with herself. And with Bellamy.

"I might have kind of liked you, too," she admitted. "And then later, after you stopped being a dick to me, it might have turned into... a little more than that."

Bellamy heaved a sigh, grabbing onto both her hands, squeezing them tight.

"So... does that mean you're gonna forgive me for being an asshole? And maybe we can even go back to the way things were?"

Clarke's smile was rueful as she finally accepted that "back to the way things were" was exactly what she wanted, too.

"After all that, I don't see how I can do anything else."

"Clarke," Bellamy murmured, his face a picture of happiness and relief as he reached up to stroke her cheek.

"This has been the worst twenty-four hours of my life. Even with Octavia coming home, I've just been... a wreck. I'm so damn sorry."

"I'm sorry, too," she said, knowing she had to admit her part in their conflict. "I wanted so badly to help you but I shouldn't have done it behind your back. I should have told you about it."

"No more secrets," he said, pulling her to him and folding her tightly into his arms.

"No more secrets," she agreed, hugging him back just as fiercely.

The sheer relief of being in his arms again nearly overwhelmed her.

They stood there for a few moments, the room still silent around them, and then Clarke heard the sudden soft clearing of a throat.

"Speaking of secrets," Harper said curiously, "were you two ever gonna tell us about this? Exactly how long have you guys been together?"

Clarke glanced up at Bellamy and they both shrugged.

"I suppose since Thanksgiving," she said. "But we, uh, we haven't actually talked about anything..."

"But we're going to be doing that later... right, Clarke?"

She laughed. "Looks like there's a conversation coming up," she said, smiling. "Although I'm not sure I have much to say."

"Me, neither," he agreed, smiling down at her happily. "It'll be very short."

'Well, I think it's great," Harper added, smiling, "even if I was kept in the dark..."

"_I_ knew!" Jasper insisted immediately. "I could tell a mile off."

"I might have had a couple of suspicions," Monty added, shrugging. "But it wasn't like it was any of my business so..."

"Me, too," Emori agreed, nodding.

"What? Why the fuck didn't you tell me," Murphy complained to her vehemently. "I could have dreamed up something much more embarrassing if I'd known they were actually into each other!"

A sudden loud guffaw came from somewhere in the back of the room.

"Looks like you got played, Murphy," Miller said, grinning widely. "Does my heart good."

When they all laughed, the party suddenly became... just a party. Everyone started talking at once and they began to gravitate towards the refreshments.

A moment later, amid the general hubbub, Octavia once again pulled Clarke aside.

"Clarke, thanks for giving Bell another chance," Octavia told her sincerely. "I know I hurt him when I ran off, and I would have hated it if I was somehow the cause of him losing you, too. He was... such a mess when we finally got there last night. I mean, he was really happy to see me, but all he could talk about was how bad he'd screwed up with you. He kept trying to call..."

"I had my phone turned off."

"I knew it! Told him that was probably it, but he was so sure you'd never want to talk to him again that he almost didn't come here today. I'm so glad you guys worked it out."

Clarke shrugged. "To tell you the truth, I don't think I could ever have held out for long, but when he said he'd liked me even before the contest started..."

She grinned... and Octavia grinned right back.

"Men can be such idiots sometimes," Octavia said, and Clarke couldn't help but agree.

"I'm so glad you decided to come home, Octavia," she told her. "You and Bellamy shouldn't be at odds. You're really lucky to have each other."

"Yeah, I know. No matter what, I'm not gonna let it get bad again. And I'm glad he found you. _And_ I'm dying to see that picture you drew. I assume Bellamy gets it back?"

Clarke smiled. "Of course. I made it for him. And I guess... for you."

Their conversation was interrupted when Monty suddenly pulled on a fuzzy red hat and announced it was Secret Santa time. They all sat around the tree, Clarke settling into Bellamy's lap just like she'd always belonged there.

As it turned out, Harper loved her lipstick, and Clarke giggled when Harper said that at least now she wouldn't have to wonder how the hell Bellamy Blake knew what shade of lipstick to buy her.

When Jasper gleefully pulled on his reindeer hat, and Maya groaned, Bellamy poked Clarke in the ribs.

"See, I told you she'd hate it," he said, grinning. "Am I not always right about these things?"

"Always," she said, rolling her eyes and smiling down at him.

When his smile changed to one that was much more intimate, Clarke's body began to tingle and suddenly she wanted Bellamy all to herself.

"I think we should leave now," she leaned over and whispered in his ear. "I don't think anyone would miss us."

"Yeah," he nodded. "Can we go to your place? Octavia and Lincoln are at my house and..."

"Good idea. You arrange it while I get my coat."

Clarke supposed she shouldn't have expected that they'd get away scot-free, that Murphy wouldn't have some further humiliation in mind for them. After all, they'd totally screwed up his carefully-planned competition, and he was not to be denied his fun.

But they made it all the way to the apartment door before Murphy spotted them.

"Hey!" he grumbled loudly. "You two bailing on us? Got better things to do?"

This last was accompanied by an exaggerated smirk.

"As a matter of fact we do," Bellamy nodded, amused.

"Yeah, well you can start right here," Murphy shot back, a devilish gleam in his eye.

"What!" Clarke wondered what the hell Murphy was suggesting_ now._

But when his smirk turned positively gleeful and he said, "Look up," she didn't even have to raise her eyes to know what she'd find there: plastic mistletoe taped to the lintel.

Bellamy side-eyed her, and a wordless communication passed between them.

"No problem, Murphy," Clarke said cheerfully. "We know we owe you big time, so... this one's for you."

Bellamy leaned down a little, and Clarke looked up a little, and their lips met somewhere in the middle. But while the others might have been expecting a quick mistletoe peck, that wasn't what they got at all. Instead, Clarke wound her arms around Bellamy's neck while he pulled her to him tightly, and only the bulkiness of their heavy winter coats prevented their wet open-mouthed kiss from becoming too steamy for onlookers.

They finally broke apart, grinning like idiots, amid the whistles and catcalls of their friends,

And Clarke would swear that Murphy looked a little pink around the edges.

"All right, all right," he muttered. "Will you two get the hell out of here!"

Bellamy grinned. "That's pretty much what we had in mind."

They were still laughing as they climbed into Bellamy's truck and buckled themselves into their seatbelts. Bellamy started the car, but instead of immediately shifting into gear, he turned to Clarke.

"That kiss was for the crowd," he said softly, leaning towards her, "but this one's for you."

His large hand stroked through Clarke's hair as he pulled her close, and then he bent to give her a kiss so sweet and so gentle that she felt it all the way down to her toes.

"Clarke," he breathed, pulling only inches away, "before we move one foot, there's something I've gotta say."

"Can't it... shouldn't we wait until we get to my place for any conversation?"

But Bellamy just shook his head.

"Please don't stop me again. All I've thought about for the last twenty-four hours is that I never got the chance to say this to you."

"Okay," she nodded, her smile soft.

"I love you," Bellamy told her, simple and direct.

"I know," she nodded. "I love you, too."

"Should we maybe... I don't know... have a contest to see who's better at it," he asked, smiling broadly.

Clarke laughed, reaching up for another quick kiss.

"I think maybe this time we can just... call it a draw."


End file.
